To be Haunted
by Claire Daae
Summary: (am in the midst of re-writing this fic) "You said yourself he was nothing but a man. Yet while he lives, he will haunt us 'til we're dead." (based on the book, Susan Kay's novel, and the musical)
1. Prolog

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO

Rated: PG-13...for the time being

A/N: This Prolog has been called a "copy" of the novel and it might be, I don't think so. But please don't judge my whole story on this Prolog that I may not even keep. Also, extra brownie points to the person who can find the tribute to "The Hours" in this stoy.

Prolog

As the second or third Historian to study "the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera" I feel it my duty to tell you whereabouts I came upon the information that I have tried to convert to an excisable (and easier to read) writing form. I also think I should mention that the first written account of "the Opera Ghost's tale" contrasts a more 'romanticized' version written years later. Since I think both authors to have been trustworthy, one can only assume that the truth of the tale lies between the two accounts. So I have done my utmost best to stick to the historical facts but the facts still leave holes and I have tried (as scientifically as possible) to fill them. It is also my duty to inform the reader that this work covers the "strange occurrences" that happened many years after the infamous fall of the Chandelier and the fantastic disappearance of Christine Daaé, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny (both of which reappeared as husband and wife years later), and the tragic death of the Comte Philippe de Chagny.

This work is based mostly on the dairies of one Vicomtess Claire Daaé de Chagny (also the one and only entry from a book thought to be the Vicomtess Christine Daaé de Chagny's dairy which will be shown bellow), Mademoiselle Madeline Giry (the Singing Mistress of L'Opera Populaire), and the somewhat eccentric (as my work colleagues believe) accounts of Amelie Pinon Destler.

_An entry from the Vicomtess Christine Daaé de Chagny's dairy:_

_I do not know the date or the month. Raoul won't allow me even the comfort of knowing the time. I am kept locked up in the East Wing of this house. I cannot leave, I cannot do anything. I cannot even see my daughter! Ever since Raoul brought me back after I left him I have become his prisoner. He is afraid I will leave him again for Erik._

_I'm scarred that he'll force me to have a miscarriage. He is insanely jealous! He knows it is not his child, I fear he has gone quite mad with his jealousy. I am surprised he allowed me something to write on. I think he's trying to catch me sending letters to Erik. Poor Erik!_

The above is the soul insight as to what went on inside the Chagny Estate before Miss Claire Chagny began to record her own thoughts onto paper. The book containing Miss Christine Chagny's dairy was found shortly after the fire that burned the Chagny Estate to the ground. Many said it eerie that this "one cry of an insane woman for help" was the only thing to survive the fire unburned. Claire Chagny's dairies were found hidden in the walls of L'Opera Populaire when the building was torn down to make way for the new industries of the age. Mademoiselle Madeline Giry actually came looking for me when she had word that I was researching about the Chagny family. She told me all she knew of what had happened to Claire Chagny while she was at the Opera. And as for Amelie Destler her name was given me by Mademoiselle Giry and I found the woman in a "Mad House" (which I have been asked not to name). So you can see why my colleagues doubt her word on the matters. I however do not believe her mad. I think of her as a tragic woman disparate for her father's love but I will save that story for this book to tell. And so I leave you to read this, my interpretation, of the sad story of the Vicomtess Claire Daaé de Chagny.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

"Thorns"

Every time she had said "no more" every time she had thought "just one more look then no more" and yet there Claire stood at the foot of her mother's grave. She stood gazing at the tombstone and the words carved into its gray face: Viscomtess Christine Daaé de Chagny. Claire's eyes filled with tears that never once fell; she pulled her dark cape around her as she shivered in the snow. Her crystal blue eyes fell to the base of the grave where rested a red rose tied in black silk. She hadn't placed it there and her father had but once come to this grave. Claire stooped and plucked up the flower. She ran her cold fingers lightly across the tops of the petals that reached out as if offering a kiss on their red lips. The wind swirled around her frail figure and seemed to sing in a ghostly voice a melody that Claire didn't know and yet was so familiar. She nearly lost herself in the wind's voice but remembered herself enough to realize the sky was darkening. She began to hurry home still fondling the rose and the wind's song in her ear. But once she left the graveyard gates the wind faded and died and she walked the rest of the way in silence.

"Where were you?" Asked Claire's father from his wheelchair.

"Visiting Mama." Answered Claire as she let her cape fall from her thin shoulders.

"We're getting water on the floor!" Fussed father's nurse sweeping up the cape in her arms.

Claire quietly sank into an armchair, there were many armchairs in the room, all red, all old and soft. Father in his wheelchair sat next to the great fire which all the arm chairs were arranged around. Claire herself seemed to almost disappear in her chair, though she was eighteen she was thin and fragile as if made of glass. Father blamed the fact that she was small on the fact that she never had mother's milk, her mother had died in birth another thing father blamed Claire for. Claire knew inside that her mother's death was caused because she was in her forties when she gave birth to her but her father's cold glances and muttered sentences pained her.

Claire sat quietly still gently holding the rose in her hand, her free hand clenching and unclenching the folds of her black dress. She was trying to remember that melody on the wind but it wouldn't come to her, she knew she had heard it before.

"Where did you get that?"

Claire snapped her head up. "What?"

Father turned to her and repeated, "Where did you get that rose?"

"I got it when I went to visit mother."

"Through it away. Now."

"What? No. I can't." Claire clutched the rose to her chest cutting her fingers on the thorns.

"Now look what you've done!" Huffed the nurse trying to pry the rose from Claire's hand.

"No don't—" Pleaded Claire but the rose was gone from her hand leaving a bloody mess behind.

"Now go wash that hand." Ordered the nurse throwing the rose in the fire.

Claire stood slowly her eyes never leaving the inflamed rose. She left the room leaving the door open a crack. She went to her rooms and washed her hand clean in her basin. She was about to reenter the drawing room when she heard voices floating from between the crack in-between the door and wall.

"You can't think she met _him_ do you? Surely he must be dead by now." Said the nurse.

"I don't think a man like him can die." Came father's feeble voice.

"Oh, nonsense." Reasoned the nurse.

Claire wanted to hear more but she could hear the nurse making for the door so she bolted up the stairs hopping she hadn't been seen eavesdropping.

Claire sat on the stairs in the darkness. She hadn't been able to sleep and so she sat on the stairs humming to herself then singing softly words she didn't know she knew, As she sang, not knowing what word came next but saying it all the same, she almost felt that someone was there with her but she wasn't afraid. It was if she was singing to someone else but they were not her words.

"Madam,"

Claire shrieked and looked up; the nurse was standing on the stairs gazing questioningly at her.

"I-I'm sorry." Claire stood shakily. "I was just going to bed." She turned and hurried up the stairs and into her room. She sank to the floor suddenly weak. What was happening to her? She knew—or she had thought—someone, someone other then the nurse, had been in that stairwell with her, singing with her, guiding her. But that was of course ridiculous. However, in that moment when she was singing she had believed it.

Claire stood and walked to her bed falling into it's softness. She slid under the covers trying to forget what had just accrued in the stairwell.

_He stood there in mist, a black shadow against gray, waiting for her._

"_Lonely child_

_So lost_

_So empty_

_Yearning for true beauty"_

_A hand, as black as his shadow, reached out to her. Oh, she longed to take it! But the mist held her back._

"_Too long have you been cold_

_Without a fire_

_To set your soul alight"_

Claire awoke the next morning feeling as if she'd been asleep for ages. She sat up and stretched her arms as she tried to recall what she had dreamt. There had been a man, or at least she thought it was a man it was heard to tell for his face was shrouded in shadows. And this man had been singing to her, beautiful songs they were. She grabbed her dairy and quickly jotted down what she could remember of the dream. But both the man and the songs were quickly fading from her mind and by midday she no longer recalled them though she unknowingly hummed the melody of her dreams as she walked the halls.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"Imaginary Opera"

Claire sat in the drawing room with father, who was napping. She often spent hours like this in silence watching father snore. She hummed to herself absentmindedly as she played with the folds of her dress. She fiddled with the black fabric, running her hand over it then tangling in it. She bunched it up then let it go only to bunch it up again. After she had tired of her dress she began playing with her hair, curling her dark locks around her fingers. Suddenly a thick and icy chill filled the air snuffing out the candles on the walls. And then a presence dark as night clouded the room. "Who is there?" whispered Claire as father shivered in his sleep. No reply came only a melody carried on an angelic voice but no words adorned it. The wordless song seemed to make Claire's eyes heavy and her soundings to blur into darkness. A gray mist rose up around her muddying and slowing her thoughts. She watching through thick lidded eyes as a shadowy shape appeared before her and words began to adore the once wordless song.

"_Lonely child_

_So lost_

_So empty_

_Yearning for true beauty"_

Came a shadowy, haunting, and yet beautiful and seductive voice.

"Who are you?" Asked Claire the words seeming to come slowly.

"_Too long have you been cold_

_Without a fire_

_To set your soul alight"_

Answered the figure reaching out a hand to her.

And even as Claire raised her hand to fall in this Dark Angel's she asked once more, "Who are you?" Her hand was so close to his, she could feel the heat from him, when—

"Claire! Claire, wake up!"

Claire found herself being roughly shaken by the nurse. Her mind cleared and she was in the drawing room once again. Father was awake and looking worried in his wheelchair.

"I'm alright." Said Claire breaking free of the nurse. She stood shakily and made for the door.

"Are you sure?" Came father's aged voice.

"I am fine. Just tired."

"But you were talking in your sleep, miss." Scuffed the nurse.

"Was I?" Asked Claire trying to sound natural. "In any case, I'm going for a walk."

"Not long?" Inquired father.

"No, just for air." Said Claire and on her way out heard the nurse murmur,

"Just for air? In the middle of winter, likely story."

Claire ignored this wanting to get outside. She fetched her cape and almost ran out of the house. The dream she had had began to fill her mind again as she walked through the snowy streets of Paris. She had the strangest feeling that she had had the dream before, that Angel or man or Phantom whatever it was seemed familiar. She tried to get the image out of her mind but could not. She needed a distraction.

Father had never let Claire take music lessons or go to the Grand Opera Houses; he wouldn't even permit her singing around him. But his efforts only made Claire more obsessive with her music. And so on her walk that evening she decided to visit the old Opera House, L'Opera Populaire. It was run down but still a site to be seen. She entered through a back door (she knew the place like the back of her hand) and took several passage ways and went up a few stairwells until she came to the grand tier that was lined with the Boxes overlooking the old stage. The Opera House was bear now (and held the scars of being ravaged by fire many years before), all of it's masterpieces of props and such and been auctioned away, but it was still beautiful in Claire's eyes. She found her way to a Box, Box Five it was, and sat down imagining it was just before the rise of the curtain on an Opera, maybe _Faust_. She could almost hear the music beginning to play as the crowd hushed into silence. She lost herself in her imaginary Opera for how long she did not know she had even begun to sing as if she was the diva in the lead role. When she finally came to herself and remembered that she should have been home long ago she jumped up and ran from the Opera House.


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: Really short chapter. Sorry. To SpellsoftheVeil: Thank you so much for reviewing my story!

Chapter Three

"Calling, calling"

Claire exited L'Opera House and into the empty street. She knew she had to hurry home back she couldn't stop herself from standing and looking up at the once grand Opera House. Its windows boarded up, dirt and grime clinging to the fire-damaged outer walls, the stairs leading up to its rotting oak doors were covered in filth, yet Claire could still see its former beauty.

The wind swirled around her picking up her cloak and tangling it round her frail form. The wind hissed, and moaned, its breath sending chills down Claire's spin but she could not move form her spot. She kept staring fixatedly at the Opera House. The wind seemed to be pushing her back towards the Opera House. Before she knew what happened she was standing before the decaying doors her hands on the handles. She pushed the doors open as soon as she was inside they closed as if commanded behind her. The wind was gone now that she inside. What was she doing there? She had to get home! Then something interrupted her thoughts. It was a soft sound...a Violin. It sounded as though the Violin was crying, wiping, moaning in pain. Claire found herself moving towards the entrances to the Boxes once again. She was drawn to the sound, that magical Violin!

She was standing in the middle of Box Five again the Violin's song was all around her. She opened her mouth and,

"_In sleep he sang to me_

_In dreams he came_

_The voice which calls to me..."_

The music abruptly stopped. A chill began to fill the room. Claire shivered as she say her white breath rise before her. And then she heard a soft voice speak in her ear,

"You have the voice of an Angel."


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Erik"

"You have the voice of an Angel."

Claire froze at the sound of the voice; it was oh so familiar—too familiar."Who are you?" Asked Claire trying to conceal her excitement. She had always been the kind to believe in what one cannot see so this unseen man—for it was a man's voice—did not cause her fright as it might others.

"I am the Phantom who's Opera House you are in." replied the voice, which seemed to come from all directions.

"Are you not the one who sings songs in my head at night?" Since she was speaking to a supposed Phantom (she had always been the type to believe in ghosts and Phantoms as well, despite father's efforts to the contrary) Claire did not fear that her question would lead him to believe her mad. But no reply came. "Monsieur Phantom, is it not you? If it is not then I am terribly sorry for bothering you and I will leave your Opera House."

"Do not go just yet." Said the voice softly yet commanding.

"Will you not answer my question? For if you do not then I shall go, Monsieur Phantom." Said Claire with a curtsy and a faint smile.

"Yes, it is I." Came the Phantom's voice but only from behind her now.

Claire spun 'round and there in the shadows stood a cloaked figure. "Then…you cannot be a Phantom but an Angel…for ghosts and Phantoms cannot be so…angelic as you." Claire had been stricken almost breathless by the mere presence of this Phantom or Angel. Somehow she not only feared him but trusted him too.

"I am nothing of the sort." Came the ghostly reply.

"Then what _are_ you?" Asked Claire and though her mind cried for her to stay put she began walking towards the cloaked man. "And what do you want of me? Why do you invade my mind?" Somehow being around this Phantom Angel made Claire bolder and able to speak her mind. It scared her.

"Do not be afraid." Said the Phantom Angel. "I want to teach you music."

Claire's heart leapt. "Can I at least see my tutor?"

The Phantom Angel stepped slowly into the light. He was tall, wore a black cloak, and a pale white mask concealed one side of his face. His completely black hair—but for one white streak—was slicked back away from his half-covered face. The side of his face that was visible was very handsome yet careworn.

Claire took a step back her fear taking over. "I need to be getting home." She whispered.

"Vicomte de Chagny can wait."

"How do you know father's name?" Gasped Claire taking another step back.

"That is of no matter." Said the Phantom Angel firmly, so firmly in fact that Claire was forced to drop the subject.

A short silence fell. "Teach me, please!" Claire just stopped short of throwing herself at the Phantom Angel. "I want to sing! I want to be on the stage!"

"You will…in time. Our first lesson is tomorrow at noon." And with that he was gone.

Claire stood still; she could not believe what had just happened. She must be insane! Trusting some man she had never met before! —But to sing! To be on stage! She would do anything to perform an Opera just one. But could she trust this Phantom Angel? And yet his voice! Worthy of the Heavens! He must have been sent from on high, an Angel of Music sent from the skies!

Claire slipped into the house trying to go unnoticed but—

"Where were you for the past two hours?" Father came wheeling in from the other room—well, actually, the nurse wheeled him in.

"Walking." Answered Claire her strength failing her for what was she to say? 'I went to the Old Opera House of Paris even though you've forbidden me to, father. Where I met a Phantom Angel who is going to teach me how to sing and I've been hearing him in my head for the past week'? Oh, yes, that would go over so well.

"Lies I tell you!" exclaimed the nurse. "Where were you really, child?"

"As I said, walking." Said Claire wishing she could vanish like the Phantom Angel.

"You'd be bitten through with cold if you had, you liar!" Sneered the nurse.

Father raised his hand slightly to silence her. "In any case, there is someone here to see you, Claire."

"He's in the drawing-room." Huffed the nurse. "Well, go on then you've kept him waiting nearly an hour already!"

Claire walked to the drawing room the nursing wheeling her father behind her. She opened the drawing room doors and walked in. Sitting in one of the armchairs was a young gentleman of about twenty. His hair was wavy and a light brown and he wore a dress suit that was somewhat out of date. As soon as he saw Claire he stood and bowed.

"This is Monsieur Comte de Gaston Gabriel." Said father. "Monsieur, met my daughter Vicomtess Claire de Chagny."

Claire curtsied as the Comte de Gabriel bowed. "A pleasure, Monsieur Comte de Gabriel."

"No, the pleasure is all mine." Said the Comte.

"Claire," Said father. "As of today the Comte is your fiancé."

"What!" Cried Claire dropping all manners and politeness. "I refuse!"

"Claire!" said father trying to sound strong in spite of his age.

Claire opened her mouth to reply but could not and instead ran from the room. She grabbed her cape and ran out of the house for the second time that day. She did not know where she was going but she ran nonetheless. She found herself once again in front of the Old Opera House. She dashed in. "Angel!" She called needing someone with her. "Phantom!" And then she heard it; an organ. It began with such a note, such a force, like a scream of agony. Claire followed the sound her feet not carrying her fast enough. The organ's notes seemed to be crying, moaning, a melody of pure longing. She pushed through two large doors and found herself in the audience in front of the grand stage. And on that stage was a massive organ that had not been there before and sitting at it, his back turned, was a cloaked figure that Claire knew to be the Angelic Phantom. The passion in his music was building moving Claire towards him. And then, without knowing what she was doing, she began to sing:

"_When I'm alone_

_I dream of the sky_

_And words fail"_

She was walking towards the stage, entranced with the music as she sang.

"There is no light here 

_Where the sun is absent_

_Trust the darkness"_

She was now on the stage next to the Phantom Angel who was playing his soul out on the organ. And then he joined her in song, their voices becoming one climbing higher and higher.

_"Show no one my heart _

_Which you set in prison_

_Enclosing within me_

_No, no exit no longer"_

The organ hit its climatic note and all fell into silence until,

"Back so soon?" Asked the Phantom Angel.

Claire could not answer she was breathless from singing, singing in ways she hadn't thought possible. When she was around this Angelic Master of Music she found that her voice was limitless and felt as though something was pushing her to reach farther. After moments of silence Claire blurted out, "My father is trying to make me marry some Comte I've just met. And I've refused."

The Dark Angel turned to her on his seat in front of the organ. "We might as well begin our lesson now then."

Claire nodded, she did not want to return home but she did want to sing.

Claire did not know what made her trust this Dark Angel but she did even through the fear that never left her around him. She was drawn to him in a way that she had never felt before.

The lesson began with the Phantom Angel teaching Claire to read music. She sat beside him at the organ reciting notes and where they were on the keyboard and her voice. They never once talked about anything other then music, nothing at all. It must have been a half-hour later when Claire was learning to do scales with her voice. The Phantom Angel kept urging her to go higher and higher until finally she reached a note that she had to screech to hit. She was about to give up when the Angelic Phantom placed his fingertips on small places of her throat. His touch was gentle (even so it made her blush) as were his words telling her to try again. Claire opened her mouth and the note rang out crystal clear.

"Try to remember how that felt." Said the Phantom Angel taking his hands away.

"I will, Angel." Said Claire.

"Don't call me that." Said the Phantom looking away.

"Then you must give me some other name to call you by."

"Erik, my name is Erik."

Silence fell once more. "Erik, why are you teaching me?" Asked Claire timidly.

Erik did not reply but began to play softly on the organ.

She did not know how long she had been with Erik. She felt free around him and yet imprisoned, held there for some unknown reason. Time seemed to have stopped for her and yet all too soon Erik ordered her to return home. Claire tried to argue but Erik would not hear of it. So she found herself walking home again in the snow but she could still hear Erik all around her, singing to her in her mind, he never once seemed to truly leave her side. Claire now found herself in front of the great door that lead into the house in which she lived, she pushed it open and entered (why father had no butler was beyond her but it helped her slip in and out unnoticed at times). A maid took her cape and instead of heading to the drawing room as she usually did she went up the stairwell to her room. She shut the door behind her and took a seat at her Vanity opposite her bed. She gazed at her reflection in her mirror. She still did not know what she was thinking trusting this Erik and yet she did trust him. She could not understand it. She yawned, she was suddenly overcome by exhaustion.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle, wake up!"

Claire found herself, her head in her arms on the Vanity, being violently shaken awake by one of the maids. She blinked and raised her head. "What is it?"

The maid stopped shaking her and made a curt curtsy. "Your father wishes to see you."

"I'll be down in a moment." Replied Claire waving the maid out. She had a fairly clear idea as to what her father wanted with her and she would have none of it. She had refused to marry that fop and that was that; marriage without love was out of the question. She stood, brushing her dark curls from her face as she did so, and walked out her door and down the stairwell and into the drawing room.

Father was sitting in his wheelchair next to the great fire as always and his nurse stood behind him looking smug.

"What is it you want, father?" Asked Claire with a deep curtsy.

"Claire…you look so like your mother." Said father turning slightly to her. "She was a spirited woman as well. But Claire you must think about what's best for your future. The Comte de Gabriel is a good man."

"I will not marry him." Said Claire firmly.

"Why do you defy your own father?"

"Because I refuse to marry without love."

"These youngsters and their idiotic idealism!" Scuffed the nurse.

Claire had to bit her tongue to keep from screaming at the nurse. After a goodly long silence father said,

"Do think it over carefully, Claire."

Claire made a small curtsy and left the room. She slammed the drawing room door closed behind her and ran to her room having to hold up her vast skirts around her kneels in order not to trip. She slammed her own door shut and collapsed onto her bed. "Think it over?" Whispered Claire. "There is not a thing to think over!" She wanted to scream but instead she took a deep breath and called for her maid. She stood as the skinny maid walked in. "Help me with my dress."

"Yes, ma'am." Said the maid curtsying.

Claire felt the maid tugging and untying the cress-crossed strings that held the dress together tightly in the back. She sighed a bit as the dress finally fell off leaving her in her corset and white stockings. "And my corset." Claire felt the same tugging and pulling at her back as before. She heaved a great sigh of relief as the corset came off and she could breath freely. This left her in only her stockings and chemise. "Leave." Said Claire waving out the maid. She fell back on the bed again as she heard the door close after the maid had put away her clothes. She slid off her stockings revealing her pale legs, she then noticed she was still wearing her shoes so she slid them off as well. She raised her hands and pulled the golden clips from her hair that held bits of its dark curls off her face. She felt the tingle on her head that went with letting one's hair down after a long day; she ran her fingers through her hair pulling out the tangles. A few long moments passed then Claire heaved another sigh, gathered up the gold hair clips and took them to her dressing table placing them in a little wooden box. She gazed out the glass doors (which stood next to the Vanity) that lead to her balcony. Night had fallen, a clear night with moon and stars shinning brightly. She moved to the duel French doors placing her hand on the cold glass. _What a beautiful night this is._ Claire walked back to her bed, picked up her shoes and placed them in her wardrobe. She took out a white nightgown from her wardrobe and pulled it on over her chemise. Then she finally turned out the lights climbed into bed, her heavy eyelids sagging. She was unaware of the shadowy figure that stood outside the glass doors.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"L'Opera Populaire!"

Claire sat at her Vanity the next morning, her cheek leaning against the palm of her hand. She was counting away the minutes until noon and her lesson with Erik. She gave a great start when someone knocked hard on her door.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!" it was on of the maids.

"Come in." Called Claire. The door opened and a rather harassed looking maid ran in holding a newspaper clipping.

"Mademoiselle, oh it's wonderful! They said I shouldn't tell you—but I know how you love music!" Exclaimed the maid.

"Emma!" Cried Claire for 'Emma' was the name of the maid, Claire knew her very well. "Calm down and just tell me what this all about."

Emma pushed the newspaper clipping under Claire's nose. "See? L'Opera Populaire is going to be reopened!"

Claire snatched the newspaper clipping and read it and then read it again to make sure her eyes weren't fooling her. It clearly stated that Mademoiselle Meg Giry had bought L'Opera Populaire and was beginning renovations! "My God!" Claire felt as though her dreams were coming true. A real Opera House! She could sneak out and see Operas when her father and the staff weren't looking! A real Opera House! —But wait, if the Opera House was being renovated then how could she get to her lessons with Erik?

"You should sign up right away!" Beamed Emma.

Claire snapped out of her thoughts. "What?"

"Read the bottom of the page." Said Emma giggling.

Claire read: _Auditions for the corps de ballet, and chorus will be held January 11th at L'Opera Populaire._

"I know you will make it in, Mademoiselle." Said Emma winking and taking back the paper. She curtsied and left the room with another wink.

Claire nearly collapsed onto the floor. Auditions! Auditions for L'Opera Populaire! She could be on stage! Her dream, she could almost see it. But Erik…

"I thought I would find you here, Mademoiselle."

Claire nearly shrieked. She spun around then sighed in relief. "Erik! I was just thinking about how we would continue our lessons what with L'Opera being bought and all..." She trailed off. She had just remembered that Erik referred to that Opera House as _'his'_. "How did you get in here?" Asked Claire suddenly feeling a draft and shivering.

"Why the doors of course." Erik waved at the glass doors, one of which was still a crack open.

"Oh!" Claire crossed to the doors and closed them.

"Now, Mademoiselle, we have two weeks 'til those auditions of yours. We'd best get busy." Said Erik seriously.

The two weeks that followed were filled with nothing but music, music, and music. Erik taught Claire in her room, it was in the East Wing away from most of the household making it perfect for lessons. The lessons themselves were long and hard and tired Claire out. But still it seemed to her that all too soon the day of the auditions arrived.

She sat at her dressing table pulling back parts of her hair in golden clips. She wore a very plane black dress with no fringes or frills, the skirt wasn't even very full. She wanted to look proper but not particularly rich. Since she had signed in under her mother's maiden of Daaé and since her father wasn't all that well known (despite his title) with any luck she might be able to go unrecognized as a Vicomtess. Meaning she would get in (if she did indeed get into the Opera) by means of talent not title. Little did she know that the name of "Daaé" carried more with it then the title of Vicomtess de Chagny when it came to L'Opera.

Claire finally finished with her hair, stood and walked quickly out of her room and down the stairs. She gathered her cape and left the house heading for L'Opera Populaire and her future! She walked through the snowy streets clutching her sheet music to her chest. She could not loose one sheet of the precious music Erik gave her. She finally reached L'Opera House. She went inside and was taken a back by the crowds of men, women, young girls and boys all crowding into the Entrance alone. Claire found herself being pushed and shoved this way and that by the crowd. The noise from the crowd alone was overwhelming, everyone talking at once creating waves of never ending noise. _So many people…there's no way I'm getting in to even audition._

"Miss Daaé!"

Claire looked around she thought she'd hear her name among the endless babble.

"Miss Daaé! Has anyone seen Miss Daaé?"

And then Claire saw a very stern-looking woman pushing her way through the crowd. Her red hair was pulled into a tight bun; she stood very straight and had an air of importance.

"Miss Daaé!"

Claire worked her way to the woman.

"I am Miss Daaé." She said loudly over the noise of the crowd.

"Ah," Said the woman. "Of course. The family resemblance is striking."

Claire was taken aback by this. How could this woman know her mother's side of the family? Claire didn't even know anyone on her mother's side!

"De Opera Ghost has ordered for you to audition at once. Come with me."

Claire had no time to react for the woman was walking away. Claire hurried after her trying to put together what all was happening. She did not—or could not—understand what was going on. Who was "the Opera Ghost"? And how did he know her? After a long time of pushing through the crowds they suddenly emerged on the stage. Claire was blinded for a moment by the stage lights before her eyes adjusted. She was on the far edge of stage right of the huge proscenium stage; there was a piano at the far end of stage left with an old female pianist. And in the front row of the audience sat a very old woman (she looked to be father's age at least) she held an envelop in her hand and she starred fixedly at Claire. And as Claire looked up she gasped. There was a huge, crystal, Chandelier hanging from the high ceiling over the audience! And it shown with the new 'Electric Light'! Claire could feel her very insides flutter. She gulped. This was it. This was the moment she'd waited for her whole life.

"Give me your sheet music." Said the grave woman who had brought her to the stage.

Claire started but handed her music to the woman. The woman took the music to the pianist.

Claire's heart was pounding wildly in her chest as she timidly took center stage. The piano hit the first note, Claire waited for her cue, and her hands were icy and shook. Then it was her cue; she opened her mouth and,

"_You have brought me_

_To that moment when words run dry_

To that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence" 

Her voice rang out clear and crisp despite her paleness and trimmers. She took a breath.

"_I have come here_

_Hardly knowing the reason why_

_In my mind I've already imagined_

_Our bodies entwining_

Defenseless and silent" 

Claire could not help the slight blush that always came to her cheeks every time she sang those lines. She had to concentrate on singing and not on the images flooding her mind.

"_And now I am here with you_

_No second thoughts_

I've decided, decided" 

Claire was expecting someone to stop her. In auditions they stop you after about 30 seconds. But no one said anything and the piano kept playing so she went on. Strength and confidence were finally beginning to ebb their way into her body and voice.

"_Past the point of no return_

_No going back now_

Our Passion play has now at last begun" 

Claire was beginning to be lost in the music and the words. A passion that she had never felt before was filling every last fiber of her being.

"_Past the thought of "right" or "wrong"_

_One final question_

_How long should we two wait before we're one_

_When will the blood begin to race?_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom_

_When will the flames at last consume us?"_

Claire no longer saw the stage, the woman in the audience, or the stage lights. She was singing her heart out as if to someone, she could feel the presence of that someone all around her. She could almost hear another voice singing with her.

"_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_The bridge is crossed_

_So stand and watch it burn!_

We've passed the point of no return" 

Claire came back to herself as the piano played its final note. She was out of breath and felt very faint. And then she heard it; the woman in the audience was standing on her feet and…clapping! Claire did not know what to do now so she made a small curtsy.

"I have never," said the old woman that Claire assumed to be Madam Meg Giry. "Heard such a beautiful voice such as yours since your mother left us."

"How do you all know my mother?" Blurted Claire before she could stop herself.

"Do you not know?" Asked Madam Giry. "You're mother was the star of L'Opera Populaire for a short time and my dear friend."

"My-my mother was?" Stuttered Claire.

"Indeed." Said the stern woman giving her back her sheet music. "We'll make arrangements with de property master. He'll find a room for you. In other words: you're in."

Claire nearly fainted again. "Oh, thank you!" But a red flag suddenly went up in her mind. "Wait, I won't be staying here will I? I mean, my father will never agree."

"Oh, de Vicomte," said the stern woman. "I can understand that he wouldn't want you here. We will take care of that. You needn't worry. Now go."

Claire made one last curtsy and left the stage fighting her way back through the crowd. She was still doubtful that her father would let her live at L'Opera Populaire. Her once happy, shining moment was now darkened. Claire reached her home—or rather house it had never really been a home to her—and let herself in. She took off her cape and went to her room before Emma could found her or her father for the matter of that. She closed her door leaning against it for support. She took deep breaths trying to steady herself. There was no way her father would willing let her be in an Opera House. She might have made it in but it didn't matter now, her dreams were still beyond her reach. She sighed when she heard a soft voice whisper,

"Brava, Brava!"

"Erik…" But when she opened her eyes there was no one in the room with her. She opened her mouth to say something but a sharp knock at the door made her stop short. She opened the door. "Yes?"

The nurse was standing in the doorway. "There is a visitor for you, miss. He's in the drawing room." She curtsied (if you could call it that, it was so small and slight one might not know it for what it was) and left.

"Let me guess," Said Claire frowning. "The Comte de Gabriel." She left her room, went down the stairs and into the drawing room. And, sure enough, waiting there was the Comte de Gabriel.

"My lady." He bowed deeply.

"Comte." Claire merely gave a curt curtsy. "What brings you here?"

"I know I am without your favor," said the Comte giving another bow. "But I came in hopes that we might at the least be friends."

"In other words," Said Claire coolly. "My father asked you to come in order to _try_ and win my affections."

"No," said the Comte almost bowing again. "Your father has nothing to do with my visit."

Claire did not believe it for a moment. "Indeed, Monsieur." She sat in one of the armchairs. She let the silence stretch out wanting to make the Comte uncomfortable. And indeed he did look rather nervous, he wiped his brow as he sat in a chair opposite Claire.

"So…" Said the Comte obviously searching for something to say. "Did you hear about that old Opera House reopening? L'Opera something or other."

"L'Opera Populaire." Corrected Claire.

"Ah, yes, that's it L'Opera Populaire!"

"Yes, I heard about it. Why? Do you have a care for Opera, Comte?" Asked Claire less then interested in the answer. She couldn't care less what the Comte's opinion about Opera was.

"Yes, I am rather fond of Opera. And actually I had heard that at the opening of L'Opera Populaire there will be a performance of Hannibal and a Masquerade Ball afterwards. And, well, I had hoped you would do me the honor of coming with me to it."

Claire was taken aback for a moment. She was not sure she wanted to go to Hannibal since she would have been in it if it were not for her insufferable father who would surely squash her dreams. But then she had always wanted to see an Opera! And she had never been to a Masquerade—but to have to go with the Comte…

"Well? Will you come?" Asked the Comte looking a bit more then nervous.

"Yes, I think I will." Said Claire a bit too stiffly to sound truly happy about it. "Now, if you don't mind, Monsieur, I most take my leave."

"Oh, of course!" The Comte jumped up and bowed as Claire left.

Claire felt faint for the fourth time that day. She barely made it to her room before collapsing onto the floor. She did not cry but she trembled as though she was, she felt her dreams slipping away. She had wanted to be in L'Opera but she had not stopped to think if it were even possible with her father still living. Why did not her father die instead of her mother? At that thought Claire really did cry. But then two warm arms closed around her and a familiar voice whispered,

"Tears do not suit you, Mademoiselle."

"Erik…" Sighed Claire leaning back into his embrace. "What am I to do?" She had only known Erik for barely over two weeks yet she trusted him completely and even she herself did not know why.

Erik did not reply but helped her to her feet still standing behind her. His arms fell from her.

Claire turned around and gazed into his half-covered face. What was behind that white mask? What was it he hid from her? "Erik…let me see your face."

Erik silently shook his head.

"Why? What is it you hide?" She asked almost pleading. "I've given you my voice, I hid nothing from you. Why do you hide from me?" For a brief moment Claire thought Erik was about to cry, all the sadness of the world showing itself in his eyes those deep centers of emotion.

"Claire," Said Erik just above a whisper. "There are some things best left in the darkness." He reached out a hand and touched Claire's cheek. "Some things you should not have to bare. I wish only to teach you music I do not wish to harm you." His hand dropped from Claire's cheek.

Claire stood there unable to speak a word. This Angel—no, this man—that stood before her seemed the carrier of every hurt the world held. What could have happened to him to make him this way?

"Come," Said Erik seeming normal once again. "We are late for our lesson."


	7. Chapter Six

A/N: Thanks to MooMoo-Sama and Emma-J-Riddle for your reviews!

Chapter Six

"A choice"

Claire stood in the center of her room singing the aria from act III of Hannibal to Erik who stood in the corner. And oh Lord, here comes the cadenza! With every note her voice climbed higher. She could feel herself straining. Claire took a gasping breath. She made it! She looked to Erik very pleased with herself.

"You will have to do better then that to get the lead in Hannibal." Said Erik flatly.

Claire let out a cry of frustration. "I won't get the lead! My father would never allow it! So exactly what am I pushing myself for?" She sat down stiffly on her bed and glared at the wall.

"Never mind your father," Said Erik walking forward. "You _will_ get the lead."

Claire stomped her foot angrily as she stood. "And just how am I supposed to do that when I can't board at L'Opera? I can't just disappear on father he would alert the police!" Just as the last words left her mouth she heard what sounded like a cry of anguish from down stairs. "What was that?" Claire turned to the door then turned back to Erik but he was not there. "Erik?" Another cry came from downstairs. Claire left her room and ran to the drawing room (which was the source of the sound) and went in. She was taken aback by the scene before her. The nurse had dissolved into tears, father looked close to exploding in his wheelchair, and standing in front of them was…the stern-looking woman from L'Opera Populaire!

The woman turned to Claire. "Ah, Miss Daaé! Go pack your things we're leaving for L'Opera."

"No, you are not!" Said father his face red as a beet.

"I assure you, Monsieur," said the woman. "That de Phantom of L'Opera is no more. No harm will come to de girl."

"I don't believe you!" exclaimed father as an inaudible sob came from the nurse.

Suddenly something clicked in Claire's head. Erik had called himself a Phantom and the people at L'Opera spoke of an Opera Ghost. Could Erik and the Opera Ghost be one and the same? If so then this lady of the Opera was lying through her teeth and she knew it.

"Father," said Claire with a curtsy. "Surely you do not believe in ghosts. After all you have told me many times, quite firmly I might add, that ghosts do not exist. So by your own word there is no danger in my living at L'Opera." Claire turned to leave and get her things but her father said,

"You cannot go!" He sounded desperate. The nurse sobbed again.

Claire turned back to father. "I can take care of myself father. But I would rather not leave with out your consent. Please, father give it to me."

"You will not go to L'Opera Populaire! If you go I…I will disown you!" Father nearly screeched, his poor aged voice giving out.

Claire thought for a moment. Was following her dream worth destroying her already brittle relationship with her father? Could she stay in her dead life with her father where she would inevitably be forced into marrying the Comte de Gabriel whom she did not love? Could she leave all she had ever known behind to be on the stage? It was duty versus freedom. "Then, father…" Claire looked her retched father in the face. "You must disown me for to L'Opera Populaire I go." She watched for a second as her father seemed to shrink into nothing. And then she turned her back on him and headed to her room to pack.

Claire practically ran about her room gathering her most precious belongings. A dress of her mother's, her old Ballet shoes, the music Erik gave her (along with all her other music), her book copy of Romeo and Juliet, and several other trinkets. After she put them all in her suitcase she began packing the practical things she would need (changes of clothes etc.). She finished packing in record time and made her way back down the stairs for what she hoped would be the last time. The lady from L'Opera was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

"There is a carriage awaiting us outside." She said shortly.

Claire was following her to the door when she heard someone call her name. She turned around; it was Emma.

Emma pulled Claire into a tight hug. "I heard all about it." She sniffed. "I'll come and see you perform sometime, I promise." She squeezed Claire one last time and then let go.

"Goodbye, Emma." Said Claire kissing her on the cheek and then stepping outside into the cold air. There was a black carriage standing in front of her. The lady from L'Opera helped her in before climbing in herself.

"By the way, Miss Daaé, my name is Madeline Giry. I am de Singing Master at L'Opera Populaire."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle." Said Claire as the carriage began to move. She leaned her head out of the window and watched as her once house disappeared slowly out of view along with Emma who was franticly waving goodbye from the front steps.

It did not take long before they arrived at L'Opera Populaire. It had only been a week since Claire had last seen it but it was drastically changed. The windows, which were once boarded up, now held perfectly transparent glass and the dirt and grime that had been stuck to the outer walls was gone. Leaving the Opera House in all its former glory.

Claire and Madeline Giry stepped out of the carriage onto the white marble steps leading to the entrance of the Opera. Claire could feel and hear her heart pounding in her chest. She was going to live at L'Opera Populaire and she would be on stage! Her dream, which had seemed so far away but an hour ago, was right there before her eyes. They had reached the doors and two servants opened them from the inside. Claire gasped. The magnificence of the Entry alone took her breath away. Every way she looked was gold, marble, and silver; paintings hung between windows and workers all up ladders were restoring what would soon be a breathtaking ceiling. The pure white marble floor made a clinking noise as Claire and Madeline Giry's shoes came in connect with it. There was hardly any evidence of the horrific fire that had ravaged L'Opera years before.

They had gone half the length of the room when Madam Giry, looking as though she were in the midst of a fit of hysterics, came out from nowhere and came towards them (she was holding an envelope written in red ink with a red scull seal).

"Good, there you are!" Exclaimed Madam Giry. "By order of the Opera Ghost," She waved the letter. "The Opera to be performed has been changed. We will be performing Faust and you, Miss Daaé, are in the lead role of Margarita. Now get to the stage! Rehearsal is starting!"

"But I—" It was too late her suitcase had been whisked away and she herself was being whisked away to the stage. Before Claire could really get a grasp of what was happening she was standing on stage with a whole company. She had a script in her hand (along with a monstrous amount of sheet music) and was having blocking shouted at her by Madeline Giry (A/N: From now on Madeline is Mademoiselle Giry and Meg is Madame Giry. Just so as you don't mix them up). And it didn't help matters that the Ballet Master, an Italian Claire hadn't caught the name of yet, was yelling at the corps de Ballet at the same time.

"No, no! Your _other_ left foot! My God, girl!" The Italian nearly screamed to a poor girl who was trying to dance but kept melting into sobs as she couldn't get the steps right and was messing up the rest of the corps de Ballet.

"Everyone!" Shouted Mademoiselle Giry over all the noise of the piano, the dancers, the singers and directors. "We will be running de scene from de top of de Ballet!" (A/N: Because people have been confused about this; normally when Mademoiselle Giry says "de" she does not mean "of" she means "the" it's just me writing out her slight French accent)

Claire hurried off stage left to await her cue in one of the wings amongst the flurry of skirts and rush for the rosin boxes. And then the piano began to play and the stage was filled by the corps de Ballet.

Claire watched from her wing as the Ballet played out almost flawlessly (the Italian looked in pain nonetheless). It reminded Claire of how much she missed the Ballet. Father—no, he was the Vicomte to her now—had made her quit Ballet just a year before.

The Ballet ended and the man playing the role of Doctor Faust began the scene.

Claire listened closely, she only had one entrance in act one and she wasn't about to miss it.

"And here she comes!" Said 'Doctor Faust' after a goodly length of time.

Claire walked out on stage, the blinding lights hitting her face. She walked to stage center, did her big circle while smiling as directed, and exited stage right. Claire took a deep breath. Well, so much for act one.

Since Claire did nothing more in act one (and the rest of rehearsal was devoted to act one) she spent her time getting used to the backstage, it was very different then it had been before the renovation. Scenes and scene-shifters hung way above one's head in the Flies, prop tables lined a wall and quick change costume racks the other. Small halls branched off and lead to the wings. A main door in the center opened to the stage center entrance. Claire also spent a good amount of time reading over her script and sheet music. After what seemed like hours (and in all likely hood it was indeed hours) Mademoiselle Giry dismissed the cast from rehearsal. Claire timidly went up to Mademoiselle Giry. "Um, Mademoiselle, where am I to sleep?"

"Ah, yes, so sorry my dear, I had forgotten. Follow me." She led Claire out of the theatre portion of the Opera House and up a flight or so of stairs. "Your room and board has been paid for in full by de Opera Ghost so you needn't worry about it."

"Where did Er—I mean, the Opera Ghost get the money?" Asked Claire managing to correct herself from saying Erik's name in time.

"His salary of course." Mademoiselle Giry turned a corner and opened a door. "In here is your room, you will share it with Amelie Pinon."

Claire walked into the room as Mademoiselle Giry closed the door; Claire could hear her footsteps fading away. The room was plane but livable. Everything was brown, brown walls, brown floors, two brown wardrobes, only the beds had white linens and the single Vanity (a window was above the Vanity) seemed to have once been white but had turned a pale yellow. Claire noted that her suitcase had been placed on one of the beds, the one on the right, and a schedule had been laid down on the pillow. Claire had just begun unpacking when the door flew open and a fifteen—or so—year-old girl came in and collapsed in tears on her own bed.

Claire assumed this girl was Amelie, her roommate. "Are you alright?" Asked Claire gently.

Amelie lifted her head and looked at Claire as though to ask 'are you stupid or what?' With that she lapsed back into sobs.

Claire did not know what exactly to say. So she stayed silent as she unpacked.


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: Thanks Emma-J-Riddle for your review!

Chapter Seven

"The Warning"

All the corpse de Ballet and chorus girls who boarded at L'Opera all ate together in a large room lined with tables. Claire seemed to be the only leading lady boarding at L'Opera, which made her question why she had been forced to leave home. She had asked Mademoiselle Giry about it and she merely said,

"De Opera Ghost thought it best you board here."

It seemed that everything to do with Claire was tied into "the Opera Ghost." Erik was constantly interfering and Claire wanted to know why. And on the note of Erik, Claire had not seen him once since she had arrived at L'Opera Populaire two weeks before. But he still sang to her at night in her dreams.

Rehearsals were going well, they had blocked all of acts one and two. Claire was still bored at rehearsals; her role didn't do much in the first two acts. She wanted to get to act three more then anything!

Amelie's crying fit seemed to have been a one performance show. She was almost nice to be around but she still seemed to have a black cloud floating around her.

After a rather long rehearsal on a Monday Claire stayed around the stage. All the workers and scene-shifters had gone to Dinner leaving Claire completely alone. She walked aimlessly around the stage. She stopped suddenly and gasped as a cold chill filled the room. "Erik!" She called out, she knew he was there. "Let me see you." Pleaded Claire looked around her for some physical sign that Erik was there. She suddenly jerked her head towards Box Five and she could barely make out a shadowy figure standing in it. "Erik!" She called to the figure. It disappeared and warmth filled the room once again.

"Miss Daaé,"

Claire spun around. "Oh… Mademoiselle Giry, it's you." She sighed in relief.

"You are missing dinner, Miss Daaé. You should hurry."

"Yes, ma'am." Claire curtsied and left the stage. But she did not go to dinner instead she wondered the Opera in hopes of finding Erik. She could hear him singing in her head softly, oh so softly. Her feet seemed to be following his song to where she did not know. She found herself in front of a door; she opened it as if by command by someone else. She walked into the room, it was dark but Claire could see a large mirror at the end of the room as if the mirror itself was a light. She was being drawn, pulled towards the mirror by Erik's voice, which now filled the room.

"Come to me, my Angel of Music!" 

She was just inches from the mirror.

"Erik, no!"

Claire was stopped by an old but strong hand on her shoulder. She found herself being dragged from the room. "Let me go!" she cried as she could hear Erik's voice fading.

"No." said the voice of someone who sounded like Madam Giry just much older. She pulled Claire from the room and slammed the door with great strength for her age. She then ushered Claire up the hall and into a small plane room.

"What did you do that for?" Demanded Claire turning to the old woman who indeed looked much older then even Madam Giry.

"You cannot go to him." Whispered the old woman urgently.

"What are you talking about?" Claire asked.

"You cannot fall under his spell. It is not you he wants, he is confused but still dangerous." The old woman looked deadly serious.

"Lady, you are not making any sense! Erik is not dangerous." Said Claire firmly. And yet… "Who are you anyway?" Asked Claire still feeling frustrated with the old woman.

"My name is Vianne Giry, I am Meg's mother."

Good God, the place was crawling with Girys! But now that Claire looked at her closely she did indeed look a lot like Madam Meg Giry but much, much older. Vianne had to at least be in her eighties or nineties but she still stood up straight with an air of pride and dignity.

"Mademoiselle, I simply cannot believe Erik too be dangerous." Said Claire after a long pause. "But I do admit him to be…different from any other person I have met." She felt her cheeks tingle slightly. "He is a musical genius but by no means dangerous from what I have seen."

"Please, Miss Daaé," said Vianne looking desperate. "Stay away from him!" and with that she left the room.

Claire stood there for a few moments. "What is going on?" But she was quieted as she heard Erik's voice singing to her again. She closed her eyes and sighed.

The next day a clipping from a newspaper read: _Vianne Giry passed away this morning at 1:25 a.m._

Madam Giry and Mademoiselle Giry seemed to have expected it and so took the death rather well. But everyone else who had known Vianne had simply thought that she would never die. They were obviously proved very wrong. But few facts were actually known about Vianne Giry's death. The Police insisted on 'natural causes' but wild rumors were flying around L'Opera. Madam Giry and Mademoiselle Giry refused to speak of the matter causing even more speculation especially in the corps de Ballet.

Claire found herself strangely disheartened by the death of the old woman. What Vianne had said about Erik still seemed to ring in her ears. She knew it to be wrong of course! It was wrong…it was…it _had_ to be. Besides who can trust a crazy old woman anyway?

Amelie, on the other hand, saw Vianne's death as a bad omen and was convinced that they would all suffer the same fate. She went around making the sign of the cross at anyone she passed.

And it was as Claire passed (and was crossed by) Amelie in a hall that she heard two scene-shifters talking in hushed voices.

"It had to have been the Opera Ghost!" Exclaimed one of them who smelled strongly of wig powered.

"For sure! She was found near the cellars after all and people've been saying she was strangled." Said the other. "Bet it was a grudge against old Giry for the last time."

"And Daaé's daughter showing up…that's a sure sign." But unfortunately for Claire it was at that moment that the scene-shifters noticed her and stopped talking.

Claire hurried away. They were just superstitious fools that's all! Erik could not have had anything to do with Vianne's death! But then Vianne had stood up to him and the way she talked of him…but then Erik's voice flooded her mind chasing away all other thoughts.

"_Come to me, my Angel of Music!_

_Fate links thee to me forever and a day_

_Believe in me_

_We must be one_

_To live to be"_

She could feel her senses, all of them, tingle at the sound of Erik's voice calling her, calling her as all faded to black. She did not know wither she went nor did she care. But still something in her mind was screaming 'no!' an invisible line was being crossed. But her body kept feeling its way closer to where ever Erik was.

**'You cannot go to him.'**

"_Save me from the dark_

_Allow me to live"_

**'You cannot fall under his spell.'**

"_Before I come undone_

_Save me from this nothingness!"_

**'It is not you he wants.'**

"_I know you hear me_

_Closing your eyes to fade away_

_You pray your dreams will bring you here_

_To me_"

**'He's confused but still dangerous.'**

The light of a giant mirror broke the darkness. Claire paused, hesitated. Somehow she knew if she kept going there would be no turning back.

_"Don't turn away_

_Don't try to hide from me_

_Turn out the light_

_Come find me, my Angel!"_

She moved forward beckoned by his angelic voice. The mirror seemed to melt away as she passed through it. She was in a dark corridor; she walked down it as if forced to and yet willingly.

_"Don't be afraid_

_Come to me, come to me_

_As we fade to one"_

Down halls and stairs she followed that mesmerizing voice of the Heavens. Until she came to a lake and there he was, singing to her. "Erik…" She moaned his name unknown longings hidden in it.

_"Make me real_

_Bring me to you_

_Come to me"_

He reached out his hand towards her. Even through her muddled thoughts she could feel that something was different about this meeting between them. Something had changed. And yet she took his hand as he helped her into a small boat that stood on the brink of the water. He began to row them across the lake with long powerful strokes but still singing.

_"I look in the mirror Why do I see your face?"_

Claire, weak as she was from starring into Erik's deep hypnotizing eyes, opened her mouth and sang a reply to him.

_"How can you see into me?_

_Leading me down_

_Where we can be one"_

Then they both sang together.

_"On my own I'm so cold_

_Until you found me_

_Now my heart burns!"_

They reached the shore; Erik helped Claire out of the boat. She was breathless as she saw the site before her. A massive cavern, filled with natural levels, was lit by literally thousands of candles. Drapes and rugs filled the space and a pipe organ—the most beautiful organ—sat perched up on a natural platform. But then something happened, she felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dropped on her. She regained full control of herself now that Erik was not singing. She turned to him. "Why have you brought me here?"

He did not answer but just walked to the organ and began to play softly.

"Erik?" She walked towards him. "You said all you wanted was to teach me music," Her mind wondered back to how she had arrived at this place. "So why did you bring me here?"

Again Erik did not answer but continued playing.

Claire now stood behind him. "Answer me, Erik."

"I brought you here to continue our lessons." He answered in his soft voice.

"You could have taught me without bringing me here like that." Her cheeks tingled from the memory. The man she had once trusted heart and soul she now found herself doubting his intentions.

Then Erik stopped playing and began to sing softly.

Claire felt her senses slipping again; she tried to fight it off.

Erik stood and turned to her looking her in the eyes.

She suddenly reached out a hand and placed it over his mouth. "Stop…please, don't." She dropped her hand and turned away. What was wrong with her? He just wanted to teach her that was all. She had to believe that was the truth otherwise…she might begin to fall. "Could we just start the lesson?" Asked Claire still not daring to look at Erik.

"Of course, my angel."

His new insistence on calling her his angel made Claire's insides squirm.

Erik sat back down at the organ playing out cords.

Claire followed along with her voice, slowly hitting higher notes then lower then higher again.

After a few more scales Erik stopped. He began to play a tune that was new to Claire.

"Sing, my angel." He urged.

Claire panicked for a few moments. Not knowing if this was a test or not. She shyly began to sing. She did not know what to sing so she sang the thoughts that were running through her head.

"_In sleep you sang to me_

_In dreams you came_

_That voice which calls to me_

_And speaks my name_

_And do I dream again?_

_For now I find_

_The phantom of the opera_

_Is there inside my mind_

_Why do you hide your face_

_Behind that mask?_

_Am I the mask you wear?_

_Is it us they hear?_

_My spirit and my voice in one combined_

_The phantom of the opera_

_Is there inside my mind_"

Erik suddenly stopped playing; he placed his head in his hands.

"I-I'm sorry!" Said Claire. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No…" Whispered Erik but not looking up.

Claire placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. "Then what is wrong?" She asked just above a whisper.

"Nothing." Said Erik looking up again.

Claire did not believe him, something was definitely wrong and she could not shake the feeling that is was her fault. As Erik began to play softly again Claire found herself becoming tired. And when she awoke the next morning she was lying on her bed in her room with Amelie snoring in the bed next to her.


	9. Chapter Eight

A/N: Thanks UNSEENxGENIUS and Emma-J-Riddle for your reviews!

Chapter Eight

"Questions"

Claire tried to sit up but she was still wearing all her clothes (corset and all) and so was uncomfortable and sore allover. She lay back down with a frustrated sigh. She had been so…'in the moment' the night before that she had completely forgotten to be mad at Erik for trying to rule her life at L'Opera (she had also wanted to ask him about something that was eating at her). She found it completely impossible to be angry with Erik while she was with him. But now that he was nowhere in site or ear Claire let out her frustration by slamming her fist down on the bed. She tried sitting up again by once again fell back with a groan. She made a mental note to never fall asleep fully dressed again as she finally forced herself out of bed.

"I didn't see you come in last night." Amelie was awake and starring at Claire suspiciously.

"I was out walking." Said Claire not caring that her story was not in the least believable.

"Must have been a long walk." Said Amelie getting up to dress.

_Yes, it was._ Thought Claire.

Rehearsal that day was tough to say the least. Mademoiselle Giry was hell bent on blocking the rest of the Opera before the end of the week. That meant blocking a whole act in one rehearsal and they were also measuring for costumes as well. So as Claire was off stage waiting for her cue seamstresses were measuring her bust line and sticking needles in places they shouldn't go. And this was the cause of Claire missing a cue for the first time in her short carrier and for it she got a sever tongue lashing from Mademoiselle Giry. Claire just had to stand there and take it as Amelie whispered about bad omens. So after rehearsal Claire was glad to get away from the staff and cast members. The problem was she couldn't seem to get away from them at all! She shared a room and the corps de Ballet and chorus seemed to be all over the place. So in the end Claire found herself running down a spiral stairwell until she came to what seemed to be a small chapel inside the Opera. As she went to light a candle for her mother she saw none other then Madam Giry kneeling in front of her own lit candle for her own mother no doubt. As Claire lit her candle Madam Giry turned to her.

"I thought I might run into you here sooner or later." She said smiling. "This was your mother's favorite place to spend her free time."

"I have been meaning to ask you about her." Said Claire kneeling next to Madam Giry. "If it's not too bold…where you good friends with my mother, Madam?"

"Oh, yes, the best."

"What was she like? My mother I mean."

"She loved music above all." Said Madam Giry her bright smile turning to a sad one. "She was gentle and kind…but passionate underneath. She was a grand singer, one of the best to ever grace the stage. But then she met your father…and everything changed. She disappeared in a performance and never showed up again until years later when she was the Viscomtess de Chagny. She died two years after that." As Madam Giry finished she wiped a tear from her eye. But even so she looked as though there was something, something she wanted to say but dared not.

"What was her relation to the Opera Ghost?" Asked Claire, she had yearned to ask someone that ever since Vianne had given her that warning and then what those scene-shifters had said. She had begun to wonder if Erik was in fact a real Ghost as well.

Madam Giry gave a great start at the mention of 'the Opera Ghost'. "Why would you think they had anything to do with each other?" She asked clearly shaken to the core.

"Your mother, two nights ago just hours before she passed away, told me something…about the Opera Ghost. And then I heard two scene-shifters talking—"

"Oh, you mustn't listen to scene-shifters. They just like to talk nonsense." Said Madam Giry her voice seeming even weaker then ever.

"Madam Giry, I know you believe in the Ghost and I think there's a connection between him and my mother."

"There is no connection." Said Madam Giry suddenly firm.

"Sorry to have bothered you then." Said Claire as she left the chapel with now even more questions. But Madam Giry had, unknowingly, proven one thing; something had indeed happened between her mother and Erik. But what? And what was the connection with them and Vianne's death? She had to talk to Erik; she had to ask him. So she did the one thing she knew might call him to her. She began to sing.

And sure enough in the shadows a figure appeared.

"Erik, I need to talk to you." Said Claire almost pleading.

But as the figure stepped into the light…oh, horror of horrors! It was not Erik but the Comte de Gabriel!

Claire gasped. "Comte…I…what are you doing here?"

"I was told I would find you here." Said the Comte simply.

"What do you want?" Asked Claire trying to regain her composure.

"Well…" Said the Comte wiping his forehead. "I just…thought it would be nice…to see you. And…well, I mean, you're in L'Opera! I would have never guessed!"

Claire, who was now convinced that the Comte had a nervous disorder, decided to be kind to him this one time. "Yes, I was rather surprised myself." She gave a faint and fake smile.

The Comte wiped his forehead again. "Yes, well…you see I had come her in hopes of, um, asking you if you are still coming with me to the Masquerade."

Claire's smile faded. "Oh, of course." She forced her smile back into place. "Well, I really must be going." With that she hurried passed the Comte. And when she rounded a corner nearly shrieked as someone whispered in her ear,

"Well, he is an insolent fool of a boy!"

"Erik!" Gasped Claire turning to him. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" Claire looked around nervously. "Could we talk in private?"

"Of course." Erik led her to an old dressing room (it had not been restored yet). It was dark but a window provided some light.

Claire felt the sudden urge to just say what was bothering her so she did. "Erik, why are you teaching me music? Does it have to do with my mother? And about Vianne…how does she factor in? I need answers, Erik." Claire felt a bit out of breath. Come to think of it this was the first real time she was talking to Erik about anything other then music. It felt slightly odd but she kept going. "Vianne Giry told me that you were dangerous, that I should stay away from you. She told me you were confused and I wasn't the one you wanted. I need to know why she said that. Is it true or not? By God, Erik, say something!"

"There is nothing I can say." Whispered Erik.

Claire starred at him, amazed. "You could give me a reason why. Why do you hide everything from me? Erik, I…I feel as though I'm losing myself in all these unanswered questions. Can you not at least answer one?"

"No." said Erik softer then ever.

Claire looked into his half-covered face, her hands itching to tear away the white mask. She had to know she had to see what it was he hid. His mask seemed to taunt her with what she did not know. "Let me see your face…" said Claire walking towards him. "Let me see the truth."

"The truth isn't what you want to see." Said Erik shaking his head.

"But I do. I want to know." And as quickly as she could she lunged forward and tore the mask from Erik's face. A scream of pure agony came from Erik as his hands flew to cover his revealed face but Claire had already seen him. Her own hands went to her mouth to suppress her scream as the mask hit the floor. His face, so distorted, so scarred, so haunted! But it was not the face itself that caused her tears it was the cries from Erik.

"Are you satisfied now!" He cried coming up to her. "This is what you wanted to see is it not!" His hands left his face and grabbed her by the shoulders forcing her to look at him. "Feast your eyes on the disgusting truth!"

Claire could not answer through her tears. She wanted to tell him that he did not disgust her but every time she opened her mouth a sob came out instead of words.

"You little demon! Damn you! Now you too can never be free!" he threw her away from him as he fell to his kneels and cried.

Claire sat where she had been thrown down unable to move. What had she done? Why did she have to see? Why couldn't she have let it be? Why did she have to be so damned curious? How could she make this right again? She slowly crawled to Erik. "Erik…" She was still trying hard to speak through her thick tears. "Erik, listen to me. You don't disgust me…no amount of ugliness on the outside can change who you are. You are still the same man who sings me to sleep, who watches over me, who…who freely gives me his beautiful music. And I…my feelings for you have not changed. I still care deeply for you, Erik." Claire took Erik's deformed face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. "And nothing can change that." She held out his mask to him, which she had picked up.

Erik looked as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing, as though what was happening was impossible. "Come," He said wiping away his tears and taking his mask. "It is late. You must get to bed." He placed his mask back on his face and disappeared leaving Claire along.

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. "Oh, Erik! Erik! Please, forgive me!"


	10. Chapter Nine

A new disclaimer to make allegratetree happy: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera the book, musical or any of the movies. I do not own the lyrics from the musical used in this fanfiction. I also do not own the lyrics in this fanfiction from Faust. However, the original lyrics are mine, they are copyrighted to me.

A/N: Thanks to allegratetree and Baby-Vixen for your reviews!

Chapter Nine

"The Night"

Rehearsals for Faust seemed to fly by but Erik had not come to Claire at all since that one night (curse that night!). But before Claire new what had happened she was back stage awaiting her cue on the final Dress Rehearsal. The costumes had been fitted, made and now graced the bodies of the performers, the hairpieces had been attached, the makeup applied, and all the props stood ready as did the performers. The rehearsal went without a hitch, well, close to anyway. There had been a bit of a fiasco over the shifting of scenes one and two of act two, the lights were having a few difficulties, the orchestra was off time in places and the leading soprano seemed very preoccupied (who wouldn't be in Claire's position?). But they made it through Final Dress in time to change out of their costumes and eat dinner before getting in costume again for opening night.

Dinner was spent in a wild storm of nervous silence broken only by a few prayers from Amelie to the Virgin Mary to spare them from their impending doom. After dinner people hurried about doing nothing in particular just trying to stay busy. The corps de Ballet stretched and the chorus warmed up their voices. They had a good half-hour before they needed to get back in costume. Madam Giry went around wishing everyone the best of luck.

Claire simply walked about her dressing room unable to keep still. Her stomach felt as though it were attacking itself and trimmers ran rampant allover her body. She rang her hands until they ached and then she resorted to biting her fingernails. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a knock came to the door. "Come in." She said shakily.

The door opened and none other then the Comte de Gabriel walked in shyly.

Claire curtsied trying to keep steady as the trimmers were still stabbing at her. "Good evening, Comte."

The Comte bowed. "I hope I am not intruding."

"Of course not." Said Claire trying to remember her manners while her insides tangled and twisted.

"I know you haven't much time—L'Opera of course!—so I will try and get to the point." The Comte was sweating heavily. "I know of what happened between you and your father but I want you to know that is of no importance to me." He wiped his forehead. "So, from my heart not your father's, I wanted to properly ask…ask you for your hand in…marriage." It seemed the last word took a great deal of effort for him to get out. "And know that if you say yes you will have a lifetime of security." He added seemingly wanting to help his case.

Claire stood there for a moment slightly stunned. "My dear Comte," She cleared her throat. "I…must decline your offer." The words had hardly left her lips before she felt a hand strike her across the face, the force of the blow sending her to the floor. She tried to pick herself up but she was in moments pinned to the ground by the Comte. His eyes looked as though they were burning.

"You filthy, worthless, wench!" He spat.

"Get off of me!" Cried Claire trying in vain to break from his strong grip.

"I offer you everything and that's all you can say to me?" The Comte seemed insane, mad with anger and betrayal. How could someone so shy and polite turn so ugly in seconds?

"What has happened to you?" Asked Claire almost pleading. "Please, stop!" Tears welling in her eyes as she felt the Comte tearing at her dress. "Someone help me!" She screamed.

"No one will help you." Snarled the Comte.

"Help! Please! Anyone!" Cried Claire hardly knowing what she was screaming as her tears began to spill. "Help! Erik, help!" And then a rush of air and the Comte was no longer atop her. Claire sat and looked about and then nearly screamed again. Erik was there and he had the Comte in a chokehold!

"How dare you?" Said Erik in a deathly whisper. "How dare you lay a finger on her?" He tightened his hold, a strangled noise coming from the Comte.

"No, Erik, stop!" Cried Claire running to him. "Let him go."

Erik looked at her for a long moment and then finally released his hold on the Comte.

The Comte immediately ran for the door but Erik stopped him.

"Don't ever come back here again." Spat Erik.

The Comte tore from the room.

"Are you hurt?" Asked Erik laying a hand on Claire's cheek where she had been struck.

"No, I…I'm fine." She felt her cheeks growing warm. "Thank you for saving me."

Erik did not reply but simply looked at her for a long moment. "You should get into costume."

Oh, that's right! She had completely forgotten about the performance!

"Will you be alright on your own?" Asked Erik softly.

"I'll be just fine. Thank you."

With that Erik disappeared.

The Call Boy had just given the fifteen minute call; Claire sat in her dressing room applying more makeup to her left cheek to cover the bruise forming there. Her insides were squeezing themselves causing her shortness of breath and her costume clung tightly to her making it even harder to breathe. Ten minute call. Claire put on more lipstick and began to warm up her voice. Five minute call. She checked her hair in the mirror again while doing scales. Places call! One last look in the mirror and Claire was gone from the room heading backstage.

Backstage practice bars had been leaned up for the corpse de Ballet; they were already crowding them doing warm up combinations.

Claire found herself amidst a sea of chorus girls all of which were either giggling nervously, making sure they had warmed up their voices right, or checking their props. The noise of the crowd flitted to the backstage as the corps de Ballet, chorus, and Principal Singers and Dancers all began filtering into their places in the wings. The whining of the orchestra warming their instruments began calling the crowd and backstage to silence.

Claire closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. This was it; this was the moment in which she would either rise to stardom or fall back to the gutter of her old mundane life.

Finally all fell silent…then…an explosion of sound as the orchestra began the Overture. There was a rush of movement as the chorus and corps de Ballet went to their places on stage behind the still closed curtain. Then the curtain slowly opened and the stage lights flashed on. It had begun; there was no crying uncle now.

Two scenes later as the Ballet raged Claire still stood in her wing awaiting her cue. The fluttering feeling in her stomach had turned to what felt like a war waging inside her. She felt as though she would faint at any given moment but then,

"And here she comes!"

That was her cue! Claire walked out on stage faking an air of confidence. She walked center stage (trying not to notice the countless eyes in the audience on her), did her turn, and went off stage left. Even after being on stage the unsettling feeling had not left her stomach though she was very glad to be done with her first and only entrance in act one.

The curtain opened on act two, it was the kermess scene. The girl playing Siebel (Jean Maurier) entered and then it was Claire's turn. And she sang (trying to keep her voice level through her trimmers) as 'Siebel' offered her 'his' arm,

"No, my lord, not a lady I, nor yet a beauty 

_And do not need an arm to help me on my way."_

And then Claire exited. Once off stage she took a deep breath but her insides still refused to stop their onslaughts against themselves. But there was no time, she had to change costumes and that always took more time then it should. So she rushed to the costume rack and grabbed her costume for act three.

The curtain opened on the final act. Claire stood in her wing, her stomach fairing worse then before for this was the act in which she got to either shine or fail. She entered into the scene, Margarita's garden. 'Siebel' was singing 'his' lovesick song of flowers. Then it was Claire's turn; she looked quickly to the seemly empty Box Five before she began to sing.

"_I wish I could but know who was he_

_That addresses me_

_If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is…"_

And then she felt it, her stomach stilled, and her voice became strong again. She knew Erik was watching her now, guiding her from the shadows.

From that moment on Claire's voice was full, and confident and so was she. When the curtain closed Claire felt as though she had no soul left, she had given it all away in that one performance—in that one act. Then the curtain opened for Curtain Call. The corps de Ballet ran out on stage and took their bow, then lined the back of the stage; the chorus did the same. Then it was the Principal Dancers and then the Singers' turn. When Claire finally came out for her bow, a miracle happened. The crowd—the whole crowd!—stood and cheered as she shyly bowed. Roses were thrown on stage as she took another bow. Claire could not believe it! She felt a warm tingling feeling traveling through her as the whole cast took its last bow. Then the curtain closed for the last time that night.

As Claire hurried back to her dressing room she heard Erik's voice whisper,

"Brava, Brava, Bravissima!"

When Claire entered her dressing room she found it quite empty. She had hoped that Erik would have been there, waiting for her. She turned up the dimming lights bringing her small dressing room into complete focus. The room was still empty. Claire sighed. She began battling her way out of her much too tight costume; she would have to have a word with the seamstress about it. She final got the blasted thing off and went to the small wardrobe in the room (she had already hung up the dress she was going to wear to the Masquerade inside it). The dress she was to wear was her mother's, it was a pale pink and it was trimmed with thick lace. She made sure her corset was good and tight before squeezing into the form-fitting dress. Claire sat back down at her makeup table and began to peal and wash away the thick, clingy stage makeup (except on her left cheek where she left it to cover the ugly bruise). Once it was all off she replaced it with some rouge and pale lipstick. She then took down her hair (which had been in a bun for act three) letting it cascade down her back. She quickly brushed out the tangles and then picked up the Masquerade mask she had picked out to wear that night off the table. It was white and covered with pink beads that matched her dress; beads also hung from its edges in long strands. Claire placed the mask on her face pulling the band behind her head to hold it there. She gave herself one last look in the mirror and then made to leave her dressing room when she noticed that a red rose, a red rose tied with black silk, lay on the inside of the threshold of her dressing room door. How did it get there? She had not heard anyone enter or leave. Claire picked up the flower gently and looked at it. It was exactly like the flower she had found at her mother's grave those many months ago! And that was when she thought she first heard… "Erik." Whispered Claire running her fingers along the red petals of the rose. She opened the door but instead of heading to the Ballroom she went to the dorms, once inside her room she placed the rose carefully down on her pillow.

"A token from a lover?"

Claire turned around to face Amelie (she knew she hadn't been in the room before and she hadn't heard her enter either). "No, I do not have a lover, thank you." Answered Claire curtly.

"Oh, well," Said Amelie. "It's just normally lovers who give red roses." Either Claire's eyes needed attending to or Amelie looked a bit worried.

"I must be going." Said Claire heading for the door.

"Ah, yes, the Masquerade." Amelie sounded a bit distant now.

Claire left the room and finally headed to the Ballroom.

To say that this Masquerade was magnificent would have been an understatement. Everywhere the eye looked was color, faces adorned by fancy masks, whirling dresses as couples danced, and above all…there was music! This Masquerade not only marked the reopening of L'Opera Populaire but it was a way to honor the old days in which parties like this were thrown every month. Claire found herself lost in a sea of masks and movement. She had never, in all her life, been to an event such as this! She did not know what to do first, find a partner and dance, or sing with the music. So she decided to just take in the site before doing anything.

"You sang like an angel tonight, my dear."

Claire turned and gasped. There, standing right there, was (and she knew him without a doubt different mask or no) Erik! He was wearing a black and red dress suit with a black mask. "Erik," whispered Claire. "Do you think it quite safe for you to be here? Someone might recognize you as the 'Opera Ghost'"

"So you've figured that out, my dear? It does not matter. If anyone, and I doubt they will, does recognize me we'd be all the safer." Erik grinned.

"You really do like being feared by them, don't you?" said Claire grinning back at him. She was glad that things seemed normal between them again after the…incident of the mask. Though she couldn't quite call this 'normal' for normal to her was talking to Erik about music and only music.

But before Erik could answer her teasing question a strange commotion came over the Ballroom. Someone was shouting "Where is she! Where is she!" and pushing their way through the crowd. And once Claire saw whom the person was she nearly screamed. It was the Comte! But he was not along, he was pushing a wheelchair in front of him and in the wheelchair was…her father! Claire gasped, she turned around to plead Erik for help but he was not there!

"Claire!" It was father's aged voice calling her, he sounded furious.

"What is going on here?" Mademoiselle Giry had also pushed her way through the crowd. Seeing the scene before her she changed her tone slightly, "Vicomte, you are upsetting de dancers." She completely ignored the Comte de Gabriel. "Now if Miss Daaé wouldn't mind please take this some place else."

Claire knew that even if she ran now she would eventually have to face her father. So she made up her mind as she flung her mask to the floor. "Follow me, father." She led her father and the Comte from the Ballroom through a maze of hallways until they came to her dressing room. She closed the door behind them but did not turn to look at her father and the Comte (especially the Comte).

"The Comte has told me," Father's voice was shaking with rage. "That you keep the company of the Phantom of the Opera, known as Erik, and that the Phantom tried to take his life—!"

Claire finally spun round. "And did your dear Comte tell you why Erik nearly killed him? The Comte tried to force himself on me, father! And Erik saved me! He saved me." She was breathing heavily her anger boiling. A thick silence filled the air.

"I thought I made myself clear," Said an angry, booming voice from the walls. "That you, Comte, should not come near this lady!" Erik appeared in a shadowy corner.

"You!" Roared the Comte and Claire's father.

Erik walked forward ignoring the Comte and instead addressing father. "Why, my dear Vicomte, no 'hello'? No 'how are you'? Where are your prized manners, Vicomte?"

Father, even in his old age, glared at Erik with a passion. "Why couldn't you be happy to just haunt Christine to her death? Why do you now curse my daughter as well? Leave my family alone!"

Claire felt something twist in her stomach. She knew she was on the edge of knowing the truth. And yet she felt great anger towards her father, _she_ did not want Erik to leave her so why did her father?

Erik advanced on father. "You old fool." He snarled. "_I_ did not cause Christine's death!"

"_I_ loved her!" cried father.

"No, you locked her away, you smothered her." Spat Erik. "Why else does a wife leave her husband?"

Claire felt like an outsider in this heated argument and yet she was very much a part of it. She was also shocked at the revelations as to her mother that this was causing her.

The Comte, himself, had begun to shrink away from the two enraged men.

"How dare you?" Cried father straining his aged voice. "She loved _me_! She chose _me_!"

"Oh, yes," Sneered Erik. "She loved you so much that she did not even take your last name. You only put it on her grave to stay face!" Erik came closer to father as if to strike him.

Suddenly fearing for her father Claire ran to Erik throwing her arms around him to hold him back. "Stop it, both of you!" She cried.

Erik suddenly softened; he ran a hand through Claire's hair lovingly.

"Let her go, you monster! Do not touch her!" Ordered father his voice straining beyond its aged limits. He gasped to catch his breath.

The Comte now ran forward and tried to pry Claire from Erik's arms.

Claire only clung tighter as Erik pushed the Comte away. "Foolish boy!" He spat at the Comte before addressing father again. "Your daughter is quite capable of making her own choice towards me."

"You monster." Gasped father still trying to breathe normally.

"He is not a monster!" Cried Claire freeing herself from Erik's arms and advancing on her father. "He is a man."

"No, Claire," Said father knowingly. "He _is_ a monster, the worst kind. He uses the innocence of young women to seduce them into thinking they love him. He twists their trust and sympathy for him making them forget his distortion."

"You're the monster, father," Whispered Claire. "To judge a man for his face and to doubt the validity of a woman's heart. Twisting something beautiful into something ugly." Her vision blurred over with tears as she continued. "You are nothing more then a jealous old man, father." She pointed to the door. "Please, leave me."

Father looked stunned. "What? You dare to order your father to leave?"

"Yes, I dare." Tears were now streaming down Claire's checks.

The Comte came up behind father's wheelchair and pushed it out of the room. Father's protests could be heard even after the door closed behind him.

Claire collapsed to the floor in tears.

The room was suddenly filled with a strange sweet song; Erik's song.

Claire felt Erik's arms around her. "Erik," sobbed Claire. "You loved her." That was all she could say over and over until what she wanted and needed to say finally spilled forth. "I did not know it at the time but Vianne Giry told me so. I am a stupid, stupid girl!" She felt Erik's arms tighten around her. 

"No, just a lonely one. Why stupid?"

"Because I thought…somehow without knowing it, I thought you loved me. But it is only my mother that you see in me that you love not me." She felt a wave of cold wash over her as Erik's arms pulled away from her. He was going to leave her; she knew it. This was the end. But instead she felt herself being helped to her feet from behind and then turned around. She was looking Erik straight in the eyes. Oh, those eyes that burned! Burned with an emotion she could not read. Then she felt a warm hand caressing her check, Erik's hand. On instinct she leaned into the touch closing her eyes. She felt his hand move to her chin tilting her face up slightly. Her eyes flew open as she felt a pair of warm lips on hers. He was kissing her! She didn't know what she was supposed to do but luckily instinct took over once again as she shyly moved her lips against his. Her eyes fluttered closed again as Erik's arms came around her and pulled her closer to him. As their bodies came against each other Claire felt Erik's tongue playing across her bottom lip. She had stopped thinking by now and was acting purely on instinct. She opened her mouth and her own tongue began its dance with Erik's. The innocence of the kiss had died quickly turning to passion almost to the point of violence. Claire moaned into Erik's mouth as she felt his hands caressing her and then beginning to untie the laces that held her dress together in the back. Her own hands were roaming over Erik vest.

Suddenly the door to the dressing room burst open and Amelie came in. "Claire—oh…"

Claire gave a start and quickly pulled away from Erik. There was no possible way to make the situation look innocent.

Amelie looked to the floor. "Sorry to have bothered you." She left the room quickly and shut the door with a snap.

Claire went to turn back to Erik but he had gone.


	11. Chapter Ten

A/N: To answer a question, no Claire is not Erik's daughter she is Raoul's real daughter. But your confusion is actually a good thing. I kind of want my reader to think about it but for the sake of not offending anti-incest-people I figured I had to clear it up. And THANK YOU SO MUCH to all my reviewers!

Chapter Ten

"Another Masterstroke of the Opera Ghost?"

Claire felt her cheeks tingle with guilt, longing, more guilt for the longing, and frustration. Why did Erik always disappear at the worst times? She took a deep breath and then began to re-lace up her dress. Once finished she left the room, she should head back to the Ballroom they would all be expecting her back soon.

"You forgot this."

Claire froze and then turned around to see Amelie behind her holding out Claire's mask to her. "Oh, uh, thank you." Stuttered Claire taking the mask and placing it on her face. She made to leave again when she heard Amelie say,

"Stay away from him, Claire."

"What?" Claire spun round again but the hall was now completely empty. "What in the hell…?" She glanced across the hall; it was definitely empty. She tried to shake the eerie feeling creeping over her as she headed back to the Ballroom.

Claire found herself feeling removed from the grand Masquerade party now. The smiles, flirting, and laughter seemed hollow. She could not find Amelie at the Masquerade (it made sense, when Claire had seen her she was not dressed for a party but rather wore a plane frock). Several gentlemen Claire did not know had come up to her and congratulated her on her "brilliant performance." Claire curtsied, thanked them, and said they were being too kind. Throughout the rest of the night she had many encounters of the kind, people seemed to be able to recognize her through her mask all too easily. Claire was all too happy to leave the Masquerade and retire to bed. But before sleep claimed her she noticed that Amelie was not in bed nor was she even in the room.

The next morning the whole of L'Opera Populaire was abuzz with the success of the previous night's performance and Masquerade but also of the strange disappearance of Amelie (who was, obviously, still nowhere to be found). Both Madam Giry and Mademoiselle Giry seemed greatly troubled by Amelie's fantastic disappearance. Many of the Principal Dancers and Singers were in a jealous up roar because "a lowly corps de Ballet brat" was causing more of a sensation then they. Moreover, the scene-shifters were spreading rumors that this was yet another "Masterstroke of the Opera Ghost!" rumors which Madam Giry was trying very hard to squash. As for Claire, she found herself strangely disturbed by the disappearance of her roommate and more importantly what she had said just before she disappeared. Which leads us to Claire's other main train of through; the passion filled moment she and Erik had shared the night before. It was still causing her to blush deeply.

It was during lunch as the whole company crowded into the Dinning Hall that Mademoiselle Giry came in calling everyone to silence. She was clutching a letter and Claire could glimpse its red skull seal.

"I have received de following letter from de Phantom of L'Opera."

Upon the last five words everyone exchanged nervous glances.

Mademoiselle Giry read from the letter:

"You will find that Miss Amelie Pinon has been returned, unharmed, to you. You will also find that Miss Jean Maurier is ill and will be unable to perform tonight. You will put Miss Pinon in the role of Seibel in Miss Maurier's stead.

Signed,

O.G."

Mademoiselle Giry calmly folded the letter. "I thought you should be aware of Miss Pinon's safe return and de cast change. Dat is all." With that she left.

As soon as the door closed behind her the Dinner Hall erupted with chatter and speculations along with protests from Jean Maurier saying that she was perfectly healthy. But Claire set stone still in her chair. Why would Erik want Amelie to perform Seibel? Claire wasn't even aware that Amelie could sing. And what was Erik's connection to Amelie? Just when Claire had thought she had answered a few questions now a thousand new one's sprung forth. She got up from the table and hurried to her dorm. She burst in on Amelie who was sitting on her bed. Amelie looked unhealthily pale, all the color was gone from her skin and long shadows hung beneath her eyes. But Claire did not care for Amelie's health there was something else that she had to know. "How do you know the Opera Ghost?"

"Hah!" Snapped Amelie. "Afraid he's replaced you? I assure you, Miss Daaé, I am in no means your replacement in his eyes!" Amelie turned anger-filled eyes on Claire.

"Then you do know Erik?" Claire clapped a hand over her mouth. She had not meant to say his name.

"You needn't worry. I already know his name. How could I not?" Amelie laughed coldly.

"I do not understand you." Said Claire as if seeing Amelie for the first time.

"Of course! How could you?" Amelie stood and went to the Vanity. "You know nothing of _him_ but what he wants you to believe. I told you once now I'll tell you twice, stay away from him."

Without seeing her face Claire could not clearly read the emotion behind Amelie's words. Frustration began to build in her. "First Vianna Giry now you. What do you know that I should know but don't?" Silence filled the room. Claire watched Amelie impatiently waiting for an answer.

"Everything." Said Amelie softly.

It took Claire a moment to realize that Amelie was answering her question. "Then tell me!"

"No."

"What?"

"I said, no."

That day they had a "brush up" rehearsal to make sure Amelie knew all her music and blocking. The whole of the company was surprised when Amelie began to sing. They had expected her to have a brilliant voice but instead she had a quite ordinary voice and sometimes she even sung flat.

"What is the Opera Ghost thinking?" Whispered a girl in the corps de Ballet after rehearsal to Claire. "And look at her! She looks ill." And it was true; Amelie looked on the verge of throwing up anything that might be in her stomach.

However Claire wasn't paying much attention. She was caught up in the things Amelie had said to her earlier that day. She needed to talk to Erik but he had not visited her since…Claire flushed. She suddenly realized that she was now in her dressing room. Alone. She should start getting ready for the night's performance. Suddenly the door burst open; a chorus girl came running in.

"Oh, Miss Daae, it's horrible!" Cried the girl.

"What is it? Calm down! What has happened?" Claire felt her own calm ebbing away. Something in her soul was crying out to her.

"He's dead! Hung from the Flies!"

"Who is dead?" Whispered Claire her breath catching.

"The Comte de Gabriel!" The girl finally collapsed.

Claire ran from her room. The halls were in a state of chaos. Girls of the corps de Ballet running about yelling and screaming, chorus girls huddled in corners crying, and the Leads all shouting for everyone to keep quiet and to get out of their way. Claire pushed her way through this sea until she came to the backstage. Mademoiselle Giry and Madam Giry were shooing company members away.

"I have to see!" Cried Claire as Madam Giry told her she must leave too.

"I'm sorry, it is not safe. Especially for you." Madam Giry tried to gently usher Claire away.

"No! I need to see! I must see if it's true!" Begged Claire.

Madam Giry looked at her. "I can tell you that it is quite true. The Comte de Gabriel is dead."

"But why? Why was he here? Erik told him never to return!" Once again Claire realized too late that she had slipped.

Madam Giry looked shocked, and fearful. "How do you know his name?" She whispered pushing Claire into a side room Claire didn't know was there. They were now quite alone.

"I…I have been taking music lessons from him." Confessed Claire.

Madam Giry looked as though this information had stuck her hard across the face. "Claire, you must get away from him. It is too dangerous!"

Claire cried out in frustration. "You all say so but you never say why! Tell me why!" She was past being fed up with the situation she was down right furious.

"Alright," said Madam Giry. "I will tell you what you should have known from the beginning. Your mother, Christine Daae, was also Erik's student many years ago. He lied to her to gain her trust; he told her he was the Angel of Music. He loved her with a passion that drove him insane. He seduced her into coming to his lair and that's where she learned the horrible truth. Her Angel was a man, a deformed insane man. But Erik loved her and let her go back to the surface. Your father also loved her and this caused Erik to become jealous beyond belief. I don't know exactly what happened but during the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, Erik's masterpiece, Christine disappeared. Erik took her to his lair once again and your father followed. Again I do not know what all happened but somehow Erik let you mother go with your father. After that Erik locked himself away. My mother and I would check on him to see if he had died or no. One day he disappeared and when he came back months later your mother was with him. They seemed so happy together but something didn't feel right. Sure enough your father tracked them down and stole your mother away again. Your father locked her up in the East Wing of the Chagny Estate. I was not allowed to see her. The only evidence of her being alive was the screams and the noise of her smashing glass against walls. Madness had taken her. Shortly thereafter the house mysteriously burned to the ground. You were but a baby. Your father escaped with you but your mother…" Madam Giry wiped away the tears forming in her eyes. "Erik swears he had nothing to do with the fire. But even so, after that he began to waste away. I have not seen or spoken with him in years, I can't believe he's still alive. My mother told me it had to do with his deformity that he has lived so long. But Claire, I don't want you to become trapped in his world like your mother. I'm afraid that he sees so much of your mother in you that…" She trailed off.

"I know." Whispered Claire. She had thought the story went something like what Madam Giry had said but now she had the finer details. She did not know what to think. Should she hate, love, or pity Erik? And what of her mother? Or her father? It was still so unclear. After a long pause Claire spoke again, "Why was the Comte here?"

Madam Giry looked away. "He came this morning saying he had received a letter from 'some madman' telling him that if he wanted your heart he'd have to fight for it. It is my fault he is dead. I knew that letter came from Erik and I knew Erik could easily kill the Comte. But the Comte seemed so ready to die for your hand. So like your father really. I am a foolish old woman!"

"Indeed," said Claire softly. "For it was not my hand he desired. But now he is dead…are you sure it was Erik who killed him?" Claire knew the answer to her question but she had to ask all the same.

"I'm afraid I am quite sure." Said Madam Giry. "You have to leave here before his obsession with you grows anymore! He's a murderer! A murderer! Leave!"

A murderer. The words echoed in Claire's mind. "I can't." Said Claire. "I can't bare the thought of him being alone no matter what he is. Anyway, I must get ready for the performance."

"There will be no performance."

"What?" Cried Claire.

"The police are going to be all over this place. For the time being the performances are cancelled."


	12. Chapter Eleven

A/N: This chapter is a tad bit short. Very sorry. And thanks for all your reviews!

Chapter Eleven

"Shadows of a Mother"

Claire sat alone in her dorm room. Pandemonium was still raging outside in the halls the sounds of which drifted in through the closed door. Claire sat stone still. Her mind still refused to except that Erik had killed the Comte. Yes, Erik had loathed him but why kill him? Why go that far? Why?

A sharp knock to the door started Claire from her thoughts. "Come in."

The door opened and an Officer walked in. He was not very tale and his stomach seemed to spill over his belt that held up his pants. "Are you Claire Daaé?" He asked dryly.

"I am she." Answered Claire in an equally dry tone.

"I am told you knew the late Comte de Gabriel, is this true?"

"Yes," Nodded Claire.

"What was your relation to the late Comte?" Asked the Officer taking out a pad and pen.

"My father had chosen him as my fiancé, I refused to marry him. The Comte asked for my hand again and I refused." Claire left out some things for she did not want the Officer to pin a motive to murder on her. She also wanted to keep Erik out of it. "I have not seen him since his last proposal." And that was close to being true, she had indeed not seen him since Opening Night.

"Where were you at the time of the late Comte's death?"

"In my dressing room making ready for the night's performance."

"Thank you for your time Miss Daaé." And the Officer left the room closing the door behind him.

Claire made up her mind that she had to confront Erik about this. She stood and left her room. The halls were still all abuzz with chorus members but Claire did not have as much trouble getting through them as before. She racked her brain trying to remember where the dressing room with the mirror had been. After half an hour of searching she found it. It was as dark as she remembered but the mirror did not shine as before. She placed a hand on the mirror's cold surface. How had she passed through it before? Her hand traveled across the mirror until…at the place where the mirror met the wall there was a small indentation in which one could place their hand. Claire took a firm grip and pulled. The mirror slid to the side into the wall revealing the long dark passage that Claire had walked down what seemed like ages ago. She shivered as she entered the passage; the air was cold and stale. She could hear a distant dripping sound of water. "Erik!" She called hoping he would somehow guide her steps to him.

"Turn away…" Whispered what almost sounded like a wisp of wind.

"Who is there?" Asked Claire shakily.

"Go back…" Said the ghostly voice.

Claire shivered as a cold draft drifted into the passage. "Who are you?"

"Go back! I order you!"

Suddenly something cold grabbed Claire's wrist; it was a hand, a bone-like, clammy hand that smelt of rotting flesh. Claire cried out as she was dragged roughly back up the passage.

The shape that the hand belonged to was ghostly thin and was shrouded in black. It was not Erik.

Claire cried again as she was thrown to the ground outside the mirror. She turned around quickly trying to see who had dragged her but all she saw was a black shape retreating back down the passage as the mirror snapped closed. Claire jumped up and tried to open the mirror again but it would not move an inch. "What on Earth is going on?" Claire called out to Erik again…nothing. She called yet again. Silence she was about to leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned round and there, finally, was Erik but he looked different. His face looked more careworn then normal, his hair was disheveled, and he wore only pants and a white shirt instead of his normal dress suit.

"Come." He said extending his hand.

Claire fought the urge to bombard Erik with questions as she took his hand. He led her through the mirror, which opened for him, down passages and stairs until they came to the lake. Claire let Erik help her into the boat and she watched him as he silently rowed them across the lake with grace. Claire could not help noticing how different this was to the last time she'd come here. That time they had sung their hearts out to each other but this time it was dead silent. The silence was thick almost tangible as they finally reached the other shore. Claire once again aloud Erik to help her this time out of the boat. She noted that there were now stacks of sheet music everywhere. Erik had obviously been very busy. But Claire did not linger long on those thoughts. "How do you know Amelie Pinon?" She blurted out.

Erik visibly stiffened but did not answer.

Claire felt her anger rising again. Why couldn't Erik ever answer just one of her questions! "Fine don't answer me!" She spat. "But let me ask, why did you have to kill the Comte? You could have just left it at a warning you did not have to go that far!"

"The Comte is dead?" Asked Erik.

"Don't play with me, Erik! You already knew he was dead! You killed him!" Claire nearly yelled.

"I did not kill him." Said Erik calmly. "Though the news of his death is music to my ears." A slight edge of malice ebbed into his voice.

Claire was taken slightly aback. "You didn't kill him?"

"No, I did not."

"Then…who did?" Claire's question hung in the air for a long few moments.

"I did!" Came an echoing voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Claire looked about for the source of the voice. It was the same one that had whispered to her earlier but Claire could swear she had heard somewhere else as well. And then as she looked to one of the stairs she saw it. A young woman stood at the top of the stairs. Claire watched in horror as the young woman walked slowly down the stairs. A black dress robe hung on her ghastly thin frame, her hair, as black as the robe, seemed hardly attached to her head as though it might fall out at any moment, her eyes were sunken and the skin round them was black but not by bruising. She was now half way down the stairs.

"I told you not to leave your room." Said Erik softly to her.

Claire found herself slowly backing away from her in fear as the smell of rotting flesh reached her nostrils.

"What is wrong, Claire?" Asked the woman looking at Claire. "Don't recognize me?"

"Go back to your room." Said Erik more forcefully this time.

The woman ignored him staring at Claire. "It's your old friend, Claire. It's me."

The tension and fear that had been building in Claire released itself in the form of a scream as she looked into that living corps' eyes. She knew those eyes! They were Amelie's!

"That is enough!" Yelled Erik running to Amelie (if it was indeed Amelie!) and forcing her back up the stairs.

Claire lay where she had fallen from fright shaking from head to toe. That could not have been Amelie! It was impossible! She sat up curling into a ball and rocking herself back and forth.

"Claire…" Erik was standing before her once again, Amelie was gone.

Suddenly Claire jumped up. "What did you do to her! What happened to her! Tell me! Who is she!"

"She is…my daughter."

Claire's eyes widened, she took a staggering step back. "What? But before…her face!"

"Yes, she did not inherit my cursed face but something far worse." Said Erik looking away.

Claire could not get her mind around this. How was it even possible for Amelie to be Erik's daughter? How? How…? Then she remembered what Madame Giry had told her. Her mother had left with Erik for a time. For how long a time? Was it even…? "She's my sister, isn't she?" Whispered Claire looking at Erik.

"You were never meant to know…" Erik's voice too was low.

"So you were never going to tell me!" Shouted Claire. "You didn't even tell me about you and my mother! Did you think if I didn't know then I'd love you!" She felt her nails dig into her flesh as she clenched her fists. "I was right. You only love me because I'm my mother's daughter! It's because I look like her! You don't love _me_ you love _her_! Well, I am not my mother…and I do _not_ love you." Before she had to see the betrayal on Erik's face she turned and ran towards the water. But before she reached it she felt a hand grab her arm. "Let me go!" She knew it was Erik. She twisted her arm trying to break free but she couldn't. She felt another hand come round her neck, she made a desperate scream as she felt his fingers tighten.

"I'm not letting you get away from me again!"

Claire felt her throat and chest constrict as she fought for air, strangled noses escaping her lips.

"You will never leave here!"

Claire gasped as she was thrown to the ground, her breath was rapid and gasping. But in a moment she was pulled roughly to her feet again and dragged back into the lair and up the stairs. She fought with all her might against Erik but it was no use. She was thrown into a room the door slammed behind her. She banged on the door with her fists yelling and screaming. But the door would not give and there was no answer to her cries. Finally exhausted she collapsed to the floor. After long moments she came back to herself and looked round the room, it was well light by candles. There was a large four-poster bed covered in black silk and a vanity across from it. She sat on the bed, took out her small dairy, which she always kept with her, and began to write down the events that had just taken place. Maybe if she wrote them down she could finally realize them as real. But dairy or no, the fact was she was trapped in the Phantom's Lair.

A/N: Next chapter may be a little while coming. I'm in the midst of writing it and God knows when I'll be done let alone happy with it. So to my readers just hang in there!


	13. Chapter Twelve

A/N: So sorry this took so long! And thanks to my reviewers!

Chapter Twelve

"Shattered Hopes"

Claire could not say how long she had been locked away in that room but one thing was certain; the music, that insane, burning music never stopped. Though she was brought food every day and she had found a wall panel concealed a bathroom she was not comfortable in the least. It was the music; that enraged music thundering through the walls that held her in a state of panic. Oh, and of course, the fact that Erik had made an attempt on her life. What had happened to him? Why had he so suddenly snapped? And Amelie…was it even possible for them to be half sisters? Where they indeed _only_ half sisters? Claire violently shook that thought from her mind for what must have been the hundredth time. The thought of Amelie being her illegitimate half sister was bad enough but the thought of Erik being her father was unbearable.

Claire froze as she walked about the room. The music had stopped! Now a gapping silence filled every part of her, the room, and the air. She could hear her own breathing as if it was being amplified to ten times its normal pitch. She could feel her blood pulsing in her veins. She had thought silence was what she needed but now that she had it all she wanted was for the music to begin again. And to her relief it did but instead of an organ it was a soft violin, playing a strange and haunting melody. And then an equally haunting voice joined a voice Claire could hardly recognize as Amelie's. Her voice was so changed from the last time Claire had hard it; it was soft and gentle, perfectly on pitch, and nothing short of saintly.

_Little Lotte let her mind wonder_

_Little Lotte thought: am I fonder of dolls_

_Or of goblins_

It was a child's lullaby that Amelie was singing and indeed it made Claire' eyes heavy.

_Or of chocolates?_

"_No – what I love best," Lotte said_

"_Is when I'm asleep in my bed_

_And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head_

The Angel of Music sings songs in my head" 

'Angel of Music.' The words resonated in Claire's mind. She had called him, Erik, that herself. 'When I'm asleep in my bed and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head.' Erik had always, 'til recently, sung her to sleep. The lullaby seemed to be depicting what her relationship to Erik had once been. Once but no more. Claire's fingers drifted to her throat and brushed the bruised skin lightly. No more. Her hand strayed to her lips tracing their outline. No more.

The music had faded once more but this time Claire did not care. She didn't think she could bare to hear Erik's music any longer. The joy it once brought her was completely gone and it had been ever since she had been locked in this infernal room! How could Erik? How could he do this to her? What gave him the right? She had long since given up yelling to be let out but she felt the need to make her protests known again. She beat on the door demanding to be let out. She scratched at the wood of the door with her nails. "Damn you, Erik! Let me out of here!"

"That won't help."

Claire stopped dead then spun round. Amelie was standing in the room! How had she gotten there? And she looked much better then before. Her skin didn't seem quite so tight and pasty and the blackness round her eyes had been reduced to mere shadows around their edges. "Sister, let me out of here" Claire wasn't sure why she had said 'sister' it had just slipped out.

"There is nothing that I would love to do more, _sister_, but I can't." Said Amelie flatly.

"Why not?" Demanded Claire.

"Father would kill me." And Amelie meant it. There was no doubt in her tone or eyes that Erik would indeed kill her. "Though if he knew himself now he would get as far from you as he could. But given his state of mind…and the date of course."

This was not making any sense to Claire. Maybe it was the endless days of solitude or that the man she had thought she loved had tried to kill her but whatever the reason Claire was beyond reason. "I don't care what day it is! I just want to get out of here and away from him!"

"You should care what day it is." Retorted Amelie. "It's the day of our mother's death. That's why he can't let _you_ go. Believe me, Claire, I want you to leave just as much as you do but there is no way you can get away from him."

Well, at least one thing made sense now: why Erik had suddenly lost control. It had been close to the day of her mother's death. His confusion between Claire and her mother had probably been what triggered his outburst. And somehow this triggered an outburst from Claire. "I am no more my mother then you! Why does he keep haunting me then!"

The look in Amelie's eyes was unreadable. Was it sadness or hate? "He loves you because he sees _her_ in you. He hates me because he sees himself in me."

Claire's anger faded. "Oh, Amelie…"

"I don't want your pity!" Hissed Amelie.

But before Claire could say anything the door behind her opened. She froze. She knew who had to be standing behind her at that very moment. She couldn't turn around, she didn't want to see him. A long thick silence was stretching over the room.

"We're leaving." Came Erik's voice finally.

Claire was horrified to find herself turning around to face Erik. He looked as calm and collected as he had before this whole affair. Claire felt a muscle deep inside her spasm as she looked into Erik's eyes—oh, those pleading eyes!—they threatened to swallow her whole. Erik extended a hand to Claire. She paused but then slapped it away moving past him and out the door. She practically ran down the stone steps and towards the shore of the lake where the boat awaited. She could hear Erik and Amelie walking behind her. She climbed carefully into the boat ignoring Erik's offer to help her. Did he really think she would just fall under his spell again that easily? Amelie sat down behind Claire and Erik began to row them across the black lake. The boat was really not built for three but they managed to get to the shore. Claire kept ignoring Erik as he lead them back up the passageways back to L'Opera Populaire.

They finally reached the one-way mirror, Erik pulled a lever and the mirror slid open. Claire and Amelie went through but Erik did not follow. As soon as the mirror slid shut Claire bolted from the room not caring if Amelie followed her or not. She ran, holding up her skirts, to her dorm. She burst in and quickly pulled out her suitcase from under her bed. She had to get away from L'Opera, away from Erik! She practically threw all her belongings into the suitcase and snapped it shut. She hurried from the room hoping to leave without anyone seeing her. She had made it all the way to the Entry before she heard Madam Giry calling after her. She quickened her steps praying that she could get out in time but alas an old hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"You cannot leave yet." There was no 'hello' no 'where have you been?' just that one statement.

"Yes, I can! I have to get away from him!" Cried Claire breaking free of Madam Giry and making for the giant oak doors.

"No, Claire," Said Madam Giry gently taking her hand and effectively stopping her. "You cannot get away from him by simply leaving L'Opera. He won't let you go. So you may as well stay and save us."

"Save you?" Claire turned to Madam Giry.

"I don't think we can survive another disaster and God knows what he will do if I let you leave here without performing his Opera."

"His Opera?" Asked Claire confusion replacing her earlier panic.

"Yes," Said Madam Giry. "He has written an Opera for you and demands that we perform it. And I fear it may end like his Don Juan Triumphant for you but we have no choice."

"No choice? No choice! You have plenty of choice and so do I." Claire's rage was returning. "I will not perform anything that monster has written!"

"Claire," Pleaded Madam Giry. "For all our sakes, please, do as the Ghost wishes."

"For God's sake he is nothing but a man!" Cried Claire wrenching her hand from Madam Giry's.

Madam Giry's eyes suddenly turned cold. "Then why do you flee him as though he were a demon?"

Claire's breath caught. It was true, she was allowing him beyond human status just as much as everyone else. If she truly believe him only a man then she wouldn't be running from L'Opera Populaire. Strange that just months before all she had wanted was to be at L'Opera Populaire yet now all she wanted was to get away from L'Opera. She smiled sadly at the thought. Erik had given her everything she had ever wanted, everything she had ever dreamed of. He had been her Guardian Angel and Maestro, he had been her Knight in Shining Armor. Or at least that is what she had thought. He had deceived her in the cruelest way and she had believed him. She had believed him with all her heart, she had believed that it was her he loved. But she had been fooled, tricked and twisted by an insane man. Oh, how she hated him for it! How could he? How could he play upon her innocents like that? "You're right, Madam Giry. He is a demon to me, that's why I can't stay here." Claire gave Madam Giry one last sad look before walking out the oak doors. Rain was pelting down from the sky and she had no cloak, her dress was quickly soaked through and she shivered in the cold. Claire hastily went down the front steps. She turned back and took one last look at L'Opera Populaire before hurrying down the street.


	14. Chapter Thriteen

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long!

Chapter Thirteen

"Piano"

Claire ran down the streets, looking over her shoulder more then she looked forward. Every time she turned her head she thought she saw a black shape following her, she saw black shapes everywhere! In the windows of houses, on the streets, in the alleyways, in the shops! She couldn't get away from them! She ran as fast as she could though her legs were now shaking, her dress had become so heavy from the rain, her hair was plastered to her skin, and her hands shook as they clung to her suitcase. She did not know where she was running she just had to get away, had to get away from Erik, from the shadows, from Amelie, from L'Opera Populaire! Away from it all! She looked behind her again and she saw a figure! It was someone! They where following her! But then her legs gave way; she hit the hard street it was cold against her already freezing skin. Her vision was blurring but she thought she saw a pair of black shoed feet before her as everything faded to black.

_She stooped and plucked up the flower. She ran her cold fingers lightly across the tops of the petals that reached out as if offering a kiss on their red lips. The wind swirled around her frail figure and seemed to sing in a ghostly voice a melody that she didn't know and yet was so familiar._

"_In sleep he sang to me_

_In dreams he came_

_The voice which calls to me…"_

_The music abruptly stopped. A chill began to fill the room. Claire shivered as she saw her white breath rise before her. And then she heard a soft voice speak in her ear,_

"_You have the voice of an Angel."_

_They reached the shore; Erik helped Claire out of the boat. She was breathless as she saw the site before her. A massive cavern, filled with natural levels, was lit by literally thousands of candles. Drapes and rugs filled the space and a pipe organ—the most beautiful organ—sat perched up on a natural platform. But then something happened, she felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dropped on her. She regained full control of herself now that Erik was not singing. She turned to him. "Why have you brought me here?"_

_Her eyes flew open as she felt a pair of warm lips on hers. He was kissing her! She didn't know what she was supposed to do but luckily instinct took over once again as she shyly moved her lips against his. Her eyes fluttered closed again as Erik's arms came around her and pulled her closer to him. As their bodies came against each other Claire felt Erik's tongue playing across her bottom lip. She had stopped thinking by now and was acting purely on instinct. She opened her mouth and her own tongue began its dance with Erik's. The innocence of the kiss had died quickly turning to passion almost to the point of violence. Claire moaned into Erik's mouth as she felt his hands caressing her and then beginning to untie the laces that held her dress together in the back. Her own hands were roaming over Erik vest._

"_So you were never going to tell me!" Shouted Claire. "You didn't even tell me about you and my mother! Did you think if I didn't know then I'd love you!" She felt her nails dig into her flesh as she clenched her fists. "I was right. You only love me because I'm my mother's daughter! It's because I look like her! You don't love me you love her! Well, I am not my mother…and I do not love you." Before she had to see the betrayal on Erik's face she turned and ran towards the water._

"_Past the point no return…"_

Claire's eyes slowly pealed themselves open. Everything was still so unfocused and blurry. She was warm though and she was laying on something soft with something warm and fluffy on top of her. There was something familiar about where she was but she didn't know what, it was all still so unclear. She heard a door creak open and then,

"Lord be praised! You're awake!"

She knew that voice…who was it?

"I thought you would never wake! How do you feel?"

Who? Emma? It couldn't be! That would mean…her vision cleared slightly and she would have screamed had she the energy. She was in her old room! How was it even possible? "How?" She croaked out, her voice sounded strained and raspy. She saw Emma come over to her side.

"How what, Mademoiselle?"

"How did I get here?" Asked Claire urgently trying to clear her throat.

"Oh, that! After you disappeared at L'Opera a month ago Monsieur Chagny, your father, had almost all of France looking for you. He kept going on about Ghosts and something beneath L'Opera…between you and me I think he's lost it. Anyway, a policeman found you out cold in the rain. He brought you back here. Oh, it's so good to have you back!" Emma seemed positively giddy.

Claire blinked. "A month ago? It's been that long? How long have I been here?"

"I'd say you've been here about two weeks."

"Erik had me locked up for three whole weeks?" Gasped Claire.

"Who is Erik?" Asked Emma cocking her head to the side.

Claire caught herself. "Oh, n-no one. He's no one." Three weeks. She had thought it was only a few days.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what did happen to you, Claire?"

Claire looked at Emma as she tried to sit up. "I was trapped in a nightmare. And I'm not sure I've woken from it yet." A nightmare. That was the only way to describe it and it was indeed not over yet. Erik was surly looking for her at that very moment. "Oh, God…" Claire summoned up all the strength she had and through back the covers.

"Madam! You really shouldn't!"

"I have to see my father! Now!" Claire pulled herself up from the bed, her knees still did not want to support her, she wavered and nearly fell.

"You must lie down!" Pleaded Emma rushing to her and trying to get her back in bed.

"No…" Panted Claire. "I have to talk to my father…Emma, my life depends on it!" Claire managed to get free from Emma's grasp and staggered to the door.

"At least let me help you." Said Emma taking Claire's arm and helping her out of the room and down the stairs towards the drawing room.

Claire had to warn father, he was an old fool but he was still her father.

Emma pushed open the drawing room doors.

Claire hurried in trying to keep herself balanced. "Father, you must leave here now!"

"Oh, good you're awake." Said father completely ignoring what she had just said.

"Father listen to me!" Pleaded Claire. "If we don't leave _he_ will find me here! He won't let me go."

Emma decided this was a good time to excuse herself and did so.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." Said father coldly; he shifted slightly in his wheelchair.

"This isn't the time for that. My life is at stake and you just stay there not caring!" Claire gasped. Come to think of it father had never really tried all that hard to keep Erik away from her. And why had father bought a house so close to L'Opera if he wanted Erik to stay away? "Father," said Claire slowly. "You never wanted me to stay away from him, did you?"

Father shifted again.

"You knew this would happen that I would drive Erik insane because I'm so like mother. You knew and you did nothing because that's what you wanted, isn't it?" Claire drew closer to father. "You wanted revenge and you _used_ me to get it, didn't you?" She didn't wait for father's reply but left the room and walked unsteadily back up to her own room.

Weeks passed and Claire was well enough to spend whole days out of bed. She sat in the study, a small, dusty, and claustrophobic room filled with huge gray old tombs that people called books. But she was left alone in this room, the servants avoided it for some mysterious reason, and she could think without disruption. She couldn't leave the house even just to go to the gardens, father had forbidden it, so she might as well keep to herself and her own mind.

There was a Piano in the room, it was so small it was hardly a Piano, its keys were yellow and could not possibly be in tune. It was shoved in the far corner and was covered in more dust then even the books. Claire would look at it longingly or run her hands lightly across the keys but never pressing them. Father had, years ago, forbidden her to play. But it was not for herself to play that she longed for what she yearned in her heart was for Erik's cold, thin but skilled fingers on the keys...and not just on the keys. Claire violently pushed _that_ thought from her mind. She still hated Erik, she knew she did but her body betrayed her mind burning for his touch. Why she did not know. Besides her Opening Night the two had had no other romantic encounters so why the sudden yearning? Maybe her self inflicted solitude was beginning to take it's effect.

She sat down at the Piano and caressed the keys lovingly but not pressing them. Music; it was her passion and it had always been. Erik has become that music effectively becoming her passion. But she had left him..._And rightfully so!_ She reminded herself. She looked out the single window in the room, pale light fought its way feebly through the dirty and neglected panes. Erik should have found her by now, he should have stormed in and forced her to return weeks ago. Why wasn't he there yet?—Wait! Was she actually wishing for him to find her? No, she had to stay away from him! It was best...for both of them. They both drove each other insane it was best this was.

Claire looked back at the yellowing Piano keys. She should have left this house weeks ago. Why hadn't she? She pressed a single finger down on a key. If she didn't leave he would surely find her. She pressed another key and it rang piercingly out of tune. She winced against the offending note. She pressed the key beside it and sighed as it sounded remotely close to it's proper tone. She slowly plucked out a simply melody smiling because she could remember it. She had learnt the melody years ago from her old Piano Teacher. Her teacher had been a kind gentleman who never found her childish mistakes offending just amusing. A tear hit Claire's hand which still lay on the keys. She missed those days in her childhood, everything was so simple and uncomplicated and the hardest choice she had to make was which dress to wear: blue or pink?

Claire stood up and walked from the Piano. It was no use living in her past, her past was gone and she could not get it back. Just like she could not get Erik back, the kind, gentle Erik that she thought he was. That Erik was lost to her forever. She starred out the window looking down at the small garden in front of the house and the gray walk way leading up to the door. She watched with mild interest as black carriage came to a stop in front of the house. Had father invited someone? Her curiosity kept a firm hold on her so she watched the coachman get down and open the door of the carriage. A puff of a black skirt sprung from the door followed by the whole dress and inevitably the woman wearing it. Claire could not make out her face for she wore a black hat that was keeping her face from view from where Claire was. The lady paid the coachman and walked slowly up to the house stopping at the door to ring the bell. Claire hurried from the study and went as fast as she could down the stairs to the Entry in time to see a maid open the door. The lady in black came into the entry but her hat was at the perfect angle to hide her face from Claire's view point. The lady pulled off her black gloves and handed them to the maid before finally taking off her hat and handing that to the maid as well. Now that Claire could see her face she knew exactly who that new visitor was!

"Hello, sister." Said Amelie with a smile that had more meaning to it then just politeness. "How nice to see that your failing health has covered nicely."

Claire was completely dumbfounded by Amelie's presence.

"You look shocked to see me." Said Amelie. "Did you not receive my letter? No, I suppose you wouldn't, your father and all." She said the phrase 'your father' with great meaning and unveiled disgust. "So how is the old man? Trying to find you another husband?"

At that comment Claire finally remembered herself. "He wouldn't need to it if weren't for you."

Amelie just made a dismissing gesture.

"How can you be so calm about murder?" Demanded Claire completely forgetting her manners.

Amelie looked her square in the eyes. "I am not here to have my morality or amorality put in question."

Claire was suddenly taken by an early memory of Amelie praying to the Virgin Marry and crossing everyone she met. "You seemed moral and religious enough when I met you."

Amelie made another dismissing gesture. "I'm an actress. I couldn't have people thinking I had had anything to do with..." But Amelie stopped short.

"To do with what?" Demanded Claire taking a few steps towards Amelie.

Amelie's nostrils flared for a second then she calmed. "I am not here to reminisce the past either."

"Then what are you here for?" Asked Claire regaining some calm herself.

"To make sure you're not coming back to L'Opera Populaire." Amelie's hand drifted to her bodice where Claire could see the tip of something silver.

Claire backed away slightly. "I'm not going back. There's no reason for you to..." She trailed off.

"Oh, but there is." Said Amelie pulling a long knife from her bodice. "I'm sorry, sister, but I can't let you go near him ever again."


End file.
